


The Wounded Rose Job

by beckettemory



Series: Sticks and Stones [4]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Adoption, Case Fic, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Fake Marriage, Families of Choice, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Original Character Death(s), Other, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Queerplatonic Relationships, autistic characters, heed the warnings at the beginning of each chapter, im so sorry this got so intense, platonic co-parenting, queerplatonic eliot/parker/hardison - Freeform, the whole last chapter is fluff to make up for the rest, this was supposed to be much shorter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 20:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckettemory/pseuds/beckettemory
Summary: Eliot has been ready to be a parent for a long time, but terrified of making it a reality. A phone call from his aunt ends up leaving him little choice but to become ready, and fast.





	1. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: alcohol, references to violence, mentions of medication, non-explicit discussions of overdose, sibling death, references to child abuse and child death, mentions of racism, alcoholism, and mentions of parent death

“You hit me with a blue shell and you fuckin’ _die,_  man,” Eliot snarled as Hardison’s kart burst through an item box just after starting the last lap of Rainbow Road.

“Maybe if you weren’t in first I wouldn’t need to,” Hardison replied calmly, thumbs deftly guiding his kart through the difficult part of the lap. He was in third place, and only barely. Eliot had bumped him off the track and cost him valuable seconds in the previous lap, and he was catching up quickly. He was probably cheating.

Eliot just growled in response.

“What say we make this interesting,” Hardison proposed smoothly even as he overtook Bowser, putting him in second place. “Loser has to tell the other a secret.”

“What are you, five?” Eliot asked, but doubled up on his efforts to win because hell no, his secrets were _his secrets_.

Half a minute later, Eliot punched the air with a triumphant holler. He jabbed at Hardison with his controller.

“That’s what I’m _talkin’ about."_

Hardison just shook his head. “Sore winner.”

Eliot laughed and leaned over, shoving Hardison lightly.

“Pay up, man. Secret time,” he said, turning on the couch.

“Who’s the five year old now?” Hardison asked pointedly, and Eliot looked down to see that he had unconsciously pulled his feet up onto the couch. He scowled at Hardison but didn’t move.

“What, you welching now?”

Hardison held up his hands. “Nuh-uh, no, I am not.” He looked around furtively. “Parker here?”

Eliot shook his head. “Went out an hour ago saying something ‘bout Midtown Bank getting a new vault and wanting to ‘test it out’.”

Hardison looked around the sitting room of the apartment above the brew pub once more for good measure, then leaned in close.

“I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”

Eliot blinked in surprise, then furrowed his brow.

“She ain’t gonna say yes. It’s _Parker._  She’s not the romantic type.”

Hardison shook his head and scooted a little closer on the couch, gesturing with his hands.

“Nah, see, it wouldn’t be a _real_ marriage. A romantic one, at least. Purely platonic. For tax benefits,” he said.

Eliot snorted. “You don’t pay taxes.”

Hardison looked incredulous. “Don’t pay--of _course_ I pay taxes. I pay taxes on all _sixty-five_ of the aliases I’ve developed. Including yours. You’re welcome.”

Eliot laughed outright and turned back to the TV. “Don’t tell her that.”

“Why not?”

“She’ll think you turned into an upstanding citizen and then she _definitely_ won’t say yes.”

Hardison reached out and shoved Eliot, who snorted.

“Last time I ever try to tell you somethin’,” Hardison grumbled.

Eliot looked up towards the heavens. “Lord, make it so,” he said.

Hardison made an indignant sound in his throat and picked up his controller again.

“One more round. It’s your turn,” he said.

Eliot hurriedly put down his controller and stood. “I got shit to do,” he said. Hell if Hardison would be getting any of his secrets.

Hardison looked at the clock on the oven across the room. “It’s midnight, what you gonna do at midnight, go clubbin’?”

Eliot gestured vaguely. “Schoolwork.” He looked down at Hardison, already in his pajamas. “Go to bed.”

Hardison lolled his head backwards and feigned a snore.

Eliot shook his head. “You’re obnoxious.”

“Takes one to know one,” Hardison said without moving.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Eliot snapped.

“So’s your face!”

“God,” Eliot mumbled as he walked towards the door.

“‘Night, babe,” Hardison called to his back.

He paused in the doorway, rolling his eyes. “‘Night, hon.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night Eliot frowned down at his physics textbook, forehead crinkling and glasses slipping down his nose, trying to parse what the question was asking for specifically. His head was starting to throb and he rubbed at his forehead, then made a few quick marks in pencil in the margins of the textbook.

_????_

He moved to the next problem, the page lit by the blue light of his laptop screen, hoping that it made more sense than the one before. His online physics class would be over in a matter of weeks and he’d barely had time to do any of the work for it, which was fine on one level because the school was tailored to adults who needed _very_ flexible deadlines, but not fine on another level because he needed to do all the lessons and homework before then, and also take the final exam.

After reading through the short scenario once, he bit his lip in concentration. He thought he knew what it was asking, and he started to jot down the pertinent data in his notebook to the side of his text, when a sudden blooping sound interrupted his thought process and turned into a ringtone.

He looked up and saw a skype call request from Sophie. He looked around himself to double check that he was alone in his house except for his dog, Beate, then clicked the tiny icon in the corner that Hardison had installed, which tripled the internet security and encrypted the video feed at the touch of a button. Old habits.

He hit the Accept Call button and smoothed his hair absentmindedly in the second or two it took the feed to fully activate and Sophie’s smiling face to fill the screen, with Nate smiling softly off to the side. He couldn’t tell where they were, but that was probably deliberate.

 _"Hi!"_  Sophie called, waving too for good measure. Nate also waved and Eliot grinned. He heard a scramble of nails on hardwood floor behind him and felt Beate come up to his elbow to investigate.

“Hey guys,” he said. “How’s the honeymoon?” he risked asking, and he felt safe in doing so, for they were (at least as far as he could tell) both fully dressed and keeping their hands to themselves.

 _“Oh, it’s_ wonderful _,_ ” Sophie breathed. _"H_ _a_ _ve you ever been to the Isle of Wight?"_

Eliot smirked. “Once, but after that experience I don’t think I’d want to go back.”

 _"Why didn’t you like it? The castles and gardens are_ so… _And the cliffs are just_ gorgeous,” Sophie said, her eyes slipping closed and a dreamy smile playing on her lips like she was lost in a memory.

Eliot snorted. “Cliffs kinda lose their magic when you wake up held by the ankles off the top of one of ‘em,” he said with a dark smile. Sophie’s eyes snapped open in surprise and he laughed at her expression. Behind her, Nate smirked and took a sip of something dark--maybe coffee or tea but probably booze. Whatever. It was his honeymoon.

“Well, Nate? You likin’ it too?” he asked. Sophie nudged the computer so that Nate was more fully in the frame, and he sat forward a little.

 _"Yeah, yeah,"_ he sputtered, clearly not having anticipated being shunted into the conversation so soon. _"C_ _ould’ve, uh, done without so many gardens. You know, allergies,"_ he explained, and Eliot shook his head. _"B_ _ut yeah, its. It’s fun,"_  he said with a smile directed at his bride, who evidently saw it through the mirrored feed of them on their screen and turned to lean their foreheads together with a girlish giggle and a flirty kiss.

Eliot groaned. “Alright, alright, we get it. Y’all are cute and in love, blah blah,” he complained.

The couple on the other end broke apart and shuffled in their seats, Nate clearing his throat and Sophie blinking and brushing hair out of her face embarrassedly.

It took them a second to clear their heads, and then Nate’s brows furrowed and he leaned forward, eyes searching the screen.  _"We?"_

Eliot blinked. He’d said _we_. “Oh. Yeah. My dog’s here,” he explained, pausing to tilt down the camera until Beate, all scruff and tongue hanging out, was within the frame.

 _"Awww_ _,"_ Sophie cooed. _"Hi_ _, Beate."_

Beate’s ears pricked up at hearing her name and she looked around the room for the source, trotting away on a mission to find the voice. Sophie and Nate laughed.

Eliot eyed his textbooks quickly, hoping they didn’t notice. “So, why’re y’all callin’? Need somethin’?”

Sophie shrugged.

 _"We_ _just had some time before our lunch reservation and thought we’d check up,"_  Nate explained. _"Pa_ _rker and Hardison around?"_

Eliot shook his head. “Nah. I’m at home. They’re at the pub apartment, probably asleep.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. _"O_ _h dear, it_ is _late,"_ she realized suddenly. _"I_ _t’s, what, three in the morning?"_  she calculated.

Eliot’s eyes flicked to the little clock in the corner of the screen. “Almost four,” he corrected her.

Nate looked confused and concerned. _"W_ _h_ _at are you doing up?"_  he asked, tone becoming paternal. _"Y_ _ou oughta be asleep, that can’t be good for you. Are your meds not working?"_

Eliot rolled his eyes. In the months since he received a bunch of new diagnoses of arthritis and poorly healed injuries and nerve damage, and stopped being a hitter in favor of more grifting work, Nate had been more attentive when it came to Eliot taking care of himself. It was getting annoying, to tell you the truth.

“Thanks, _dad_ ,” Eliot said with a slightly exasperated smile. “But I’m fine. Promise. Meds are working just fine. I’m just on a little different schedule’n usual. Just finished a job that was completely nocturnal.”

 _"Ooh, the one with the flower farm?"_  Sophie asked. When Nate raised an eyebrow at her she shrugged. _"P_ _arker called."_

“Oh yeah, she was askin’ ‘bout the colognes, wasn’t she?” Eliot asked, remembering a conversation with Parker earlier that week that culminated in an argument about the appropriateness of various types of cologne or aftershave for various situations. With florists, smell _always_ mattered.

Before Sophie could answer, Eliot’s phone rang. He frowned and looked at the time again. Definitely still a quarter to four in the morning.

The number wasn’t saved in his phone, but he recognized the area code. 405. That was Oklahoma, and specifically the central portion.

He scowled at his phone. “Sorry, y’all, I gotta take this,” he said.

 _"Do_ _you need to go?"_  Nate asked, and Eliot waved him off and shook his head.

“Nah, it’ll just be a second.”

He hit the green button and lifted the phone to his ear, turning away from the computer just slightly.

“Hello?”

He heard a sniffle on the other end, and his stomach dropped. He didn’t know who it was, but he knew it wasn’t a wrong number.

 _"Daniel? Is that you?"_  he heard a familiar older woman’s voice ask on the other end of the line. His heart skipped a beat--in a bad way. His eyes widened of their own accord and he had to swallow before he could talk.

“Aunt Beth?”

His eyes darted to the screen out of habit and he saw Sophie staunchly trying not to look like she’d been eavesdropping, and Nate staring, brow furrowed, into his glass.

His aunt choked back a sob instead of talking and he felt a cold panic wash over him, where warmth should have been at hearing his favorite aunt’s voice for the first time in years.

“Aunt Beth, how did you get this number?” he hissed into the phone.

Instead of answering him, she sniffled loudly. _"D_ _anny… It’s Chase."_

Her words hit him like a punch to the solar plexus and he understood. He’d known this would happen since he was seventeen years old.

_No. Not Chase._

He felt light headed and his eyes were unfocused as he slowly lowered his phone from his ear to press against his chest, and he turned slowly back to Nate and Sophie.

 _"El_ , _are you okay?"_  Nate asked, and Eliot’s head twitched in what could have been him shaking his head. He didn’t know.

“I need to. Call y’all back in a little bit,” he said, and his voice scared him in some faraway part of him that could feel anything at all. It was small and even and smooth and _weak_.

 _"Is_ _everything alright?"_  Sophie asked, and Eliot hit the End Call button, silencing her next question halfway through.

He brought his phone back to his ear.

 _"--about_ _ten tonight. We don’t know when the funeral will be yet."_  A pause, a sniffle. _"W_ _on’t you come, Danny?"_

He remembered the last time he got this call, how he’d said no and hung up. How he would regret not going for the rest of his life. He was silent a moment, mouth open, unsure what he would say until it was out of his mouth.

“I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

He was waiting at the brew pub when his partners woke up the next morning.

Parker was first. At around eight she traipsed into the living area upstairs and froze when she saw Eliot, stock-still on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together, chin resting on his outstretched thumbs, eyes wide and unseeing.

He’d driven into Portland after he’d finally calmed down enough that he thought he could drive safely, and he’d made it, though not without realizations a couple of times that he’d been driving on autopilot for the last several minutes. He’d gotten there as the sun was rising and had debated starting breakfast. He’d even gotten the eggs and butter out of the fridge, but that was as far as he’d gotten.

Now, his mind was racing, flashing image after image of Chase, their other siblings, their father (he tried to skip past these as quickly as he could), their childhood home--and he knew, somehow, deep in his belly, that his youngest brother’s death was his fault.

Another part of him protested that there was no way that was true; he hadn’t seen the kid since he left for his first tour at seventeen, when Chase had been barely ten.

 _Exactly,_ the first part of him said, hissing in the depths of his mind and tingling down his back. _You haven’t seen him in twelve years. If you’d kept in touch with him, maybe he wouldn’t have--_

He was interrupted in his anguish by the slow realization that Parker had entered into his range of vision, kneeling on the floor in front of him, her face confused, afraid.

“Eliot?” she whispered, and when she spoke he crumpled in on himself, curling inwards until he slumped sideways onto the couch. Every emotion he hadn’t felt yet came crashing down on him and tore through his body.

He wasn’t crying, but he was really, really not okay. His face was contorted with pain and he wrapped his arms tight around himself to try to hold himself together, to keep the ragged hole that was his heart from ripping wider.

“I-I’m gonna get Hardison,” he barely heard Parker say as his eyes squeezed shut.

By the time he felt cool hands on his face and larger, warmer hands gently rubbing his upper arms, he had begun crying, hot tears forcing their way out painfully and spilling down the side of his face to soak into the couch. He didn’t sob. He shook, his entire body trembling hard. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even think before they were gone.

“Eliot, Eliot,” he heard Hardison saying in his most soothing voice. “Eliot, babe, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head and maybe they could tell it apart from his shivers. He pressed a trembling fist to his forehead and fought to keep from smashing it against his own head over and over.

He felt fingers at his wrist and Hardison’s voice in his ear. “Can you talk?” He shook his head minutely. Hardison’s fingers firmly unfurled his fist and clasped his hand. “Squeeze my hand once for physical pain, twice for sensory pain, three times for emotional pain, okay?”

It was a solid minute before Eliot could respond at all, and when he could make his hands work he squeezed Hardison’s hand three times. Probably harder than he meant to. Hardison cursed under his breath but didn’t withdraw his hand.

“Okay. We’re going to stay right here until you can tell us what’s wrong,” Hardison said, his voice even and low. Parker had begun petting and running her fingers through his hair and Hardison was slowly stroking the hand he held with his thumb.

It seemed like ages before Eliot stopped crying, and even longer before he could breathe again. In time he could open his eyes, and eventually he hauled himself upright. He let go of Hardison’s hand and crossed his arms over his chest, drawing his knees up to his chin. Every minute or two his breath hitched and he lost whatever progress he was making towards being able to speak, and squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate on his breathing more. He still trembled, but it was softer now, more intermittent.

Parker sat next to him on the couch, close but not actually touching him, like she was afraid he’d break. And he might have. Hardison sat on the coffee table facing him, not making eye contact, and Eliot was distantly grateful they weren’t trying to keep up with bullshit social conventions like mandatory eye contact, not when all three of them were so uncomfortable with it. He could feel Hardison watching him, though, and his skin crackled under the attention.

Finally, he opened his mouth. What came out was a strangled, hoarse sound that would have put any supernatural horror film villain to shame. He shook his head and cleared his throat and tried again.

“I, uh. Got a call from my Aunt Beth. In Oklahoma,” Eliot said, fighting to keep his voice as even as possible. He gritted his teeth and kept going. “Late last night my…” his voice gave out and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “...youngest brother, Chase, overdosed.”

He shook his head hard and squeezed his arms tighter, fighting to stay above it all for a little longer.

He heard a soft gasp from Parker and felt her hand on his knee. He heard Hardison let out a long breath and then curse quietly.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Hardison murmured. Eliot opened his eyes and watched Hardison lean forward and offer his hands, palms up, to him. Eliot took one and Hardison squeezed his hand between both of his.

“Were you close?” Parker asked, and Eliot almost laughed.

“You ever heard me talk about him?” he asked by way of answering her question. “I haven’t seen him in twelve years.” His voice broke on the last word and Hardison squeezed his hand tighter.

They were silent for a while, letting Eliot talk when he was ready to, and in that moment he didn’t think he had ever loved them more.

“They haven’t booked the funeral yet,” Eliot said at length. “Aunt Beth’s gonna call me when they do.”

“Are you gonna go?” Parker asked.

“Yeah. I have to. He’s my brother,” Eliot muttered.

A long pause.

“Do you want us to go with you?” Hardison asked.

Eliot shrugged, then thought better of it and nodded. He couldn’t imagine seeing his family again after all this time without a reliable shoulder or four to cry on.

“Then we’ll go,” Parker said decisively.

After a few minutes of thought Eliot smiled drily. “Y’all can meet my family.”

Hardison stiffened and Eliot chuckled humorlessly.

“Are they bad?” Parker asked.

Eliot looked at her and put his free hand on her shoulder. “Imagine the kind of family that would create someone like _me_ and send them out into the world, and then multiply that by five kids.”

Parker made a face and Eliot nodded.

“Wait, _five_ siblings?” Hardison asked. “I only knew about one before today.”

Eliot pulled his hand free and counted off on his fingers.

“Marie was the oldest. She died a few years back.” _Seven years._ “Then me. I’m two years younger than Marie. Then Seth, he’s a year and a half younger’n me. Doesn’t talk to me. Then Laurel June, she’s three years younger than Seth, five years younger than me. We don’t talk much, but it’s not like Seth. We were real close growin’ up but when I left, we…” He waved a hand vaguely. “Then Chase. Two years younger than Laurel June, seven younger’n me.”

Hardison blinked. “Damn.”

Eliot shrugged. “What?”

“I had a lot of siblings, but they were all foster siblings and I only lived with them a couple years at most,” he explained. “So like, having lots of siblings and having them be _constant?_  I can’t imagine.”

Eliot huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. ‘Constant’.”

Hardison raised an eyebrow, so he explained. “Laurel June ‘n Chase, they have a different mom than me ’n Marie ‘n Seth. She lived with my dad. My _father,"_ he corrected, because if the last six years had taught him anything, it’s that your real parents aren’t necessarily the ones who brought you into the world. “Me ‘n Marie ‘n Seth went back and forth between our mom’s house and father’s house, and then Seth went off on his own when he was ‘bout sixteen, ‘bout the time I left. Marie got married young--I think she was maybe twenty. It was before I left on my first tour, so I guess she was nineteen. An’ when we were all together at our father’s house, he wasn’t there mosta the time. And most of us didn’t get along.”

Parker had edged closer during his explanation and now lay her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her and she was staring at something that wasn’t there. He didn’t have the energy to ask, so he just lay his head on top of hers.

“You lived with your nana for a long time, though, didn’t you?” Eliot asked Hardison, who shrugged.

“I went to live with her when I was… ten, I think,” Hardison said, moving to Eliot’s other side on the couch and putting a long arm around both him and Parker. “I was the only one there that long. Most of the others, they got moved around a lot. Came with just plastic bags of clothes and a toothbrush and maybe a backpack. A lot of ‘em tried to stay with me and Nana when they had to leave, and Nana did what she could but hell, the state of Illinois…” He shook his head. “A couple of ‘em got to go back with their own families or whatever.”

Hardison smiled softly. “There was this one foster sister I had--she was younger than me by a couple years, I forget how much. Kelsey. She was the only one at Nana’s when I first came. She had this huge obsession with  _T_ _he Brady Bunch._  She was tiny and had this bright red hair and she had horrible eyes, big coke bottle glasses, still could barely see the screen so she’d sit right just a couple inches from the tv,” he laughed, demonstrating how far she sat. “Every day after school we’d get off the bus and she’d grab my hand and _pull_ me the last coupla blocks. Just haulin’ ass to get home to watch lame-ass _Brady Bunch_ reruns.”

Eliot laughed, imagining awkward, lanky Hardison being dragged at a run behind a blind girl half his size.

“She’d been there, man, probably at least a year before I got there. And then she was there for three years with me. Then, uh, her mom got out on parole and got her back.” He shook his head.

They were quiet, Hardison’s face taking on a bitter expression. After a long minute, Parker took a deep breath.

“Nick got me to steal him legos,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” Hardison encouraged.

“I wasn’t very good back then. I got caught if I tried to take more than a little handful, so every day I’d go to school with a list of what he wanted. You know, a wheel or a two by two in red. That kind of thing.” She smiled softly without looking away from the memory she saw in front of her. “By the end of the school year we had more legos at our house than in my whole school.”

Then her face fell, and so did Eliot’s. They all knew how this story ended.

Hardison’s stomach growled, and Parker stood quickly and wiped at her face.

“Breakfast,” she mumbled, going to the kitchen area as fast as she could without outright running.

Hardison clapped Eliot on the shoulder. “You should eat,” he murmured.

Eliot shook his head. “I can’t.”

Hardison sighed and stood. “Alright, man.”

Eliot watched them put together their own breakfasts and tried not to think about the ragged hole in his chest or his aunt’s quiet sobbing that echoed in his mind over and over.

_Danny… Danny, come home._

 

* * *

 

They weren’t staying in Eliot’s hometown. The town was too small for any sort of hotel, meaning their only option was the Colonial Motel along the highway, and Hardison refused to stay anywhere without electronic door locks, security cameras, and a concierge. Old habits.

The funeral wasn’t til the day after they flew into Oklahoma City, and they’d gotten in too early to justify spending so little time with Eliot’s family that he didn’t want to rip out his own liver with his bare hands, so they went to their hotel in the city first.

“Ridiculous,” Hardison grumbled. “Don’t even have any suites with multiple bedrooms… Or _kitchenettes._  Gotta get room service if we want to eat!”

“Hardison,” Eliot said, and Hardison looked up from his grousing. “You’re wearing a monogrammed terry cloth bathrobe and drinking champagne at eleven in the morning. You’ll be _fine."_

Hardison looked put out and pulled his slipper-clad feet up onto one of the plush sofas in the sitting room of the Presidential Suite.

“Gotta share a bed with Mr. Grumpy,” Hardison continued mumbling, shaking his head and grabbing a magazine from the mirror-topped coffee table.

Eliot rolled his eyes and went back to the suitcases. They were booked for two nights, but Hardison had packed so heavily his bag almost didn’t make the fifty pound cutoff at the airport, and he wasn’t helping unpack, and Parker was crawling around the floorboards looking for secrets, so she was no help either.

He heard a laugh from the walk-in closet and Parker stuck her head out.

“The safe in here is a SentrySafe and it’s the _only_ safe in the whole suite, unless there’s one I didn’t find. Which, let’s face it, means there isn’t another safe,” she said, giggling the whole time. She went back into the closet and snorted. “It’s like they _want_ to get their stuff stolen.”

Eliot folded one of Parker’s shirts (all of her clothes had been shoved into her bag, unfolded and now wrinkled all to hell) and stuck it in a drawer.

“Basic hotel security,” he called over his shoulder as he took another shirt from her bag. “You get a safe that’s complicated to use without havin’ the instruction manual, which you throw away, and then if the room gets broken into you can claim that the safe was used wrong if shit gets taken, which it will because you spent a hundred bucks on the safe in the first place and it’s a piece of crap. You say the guest left their door propped open or somethin’, and didn’t lock the safe right, and with the disclaimer in the guest services book sayin’ you’re not responsible for lost or damaged items, you’re in the clear. Don’t have to pay for nothin’.”

Parker’s head reappeared at the closet door, looking suspicious this time. “That’s devious. And mean.”

Eliot shrugged. “Saves money.”

“When are we gonna go?” Hardison called from the other room, and Eliot went to the door slowly and leaned on the frame, hands worrying a shirt he held between them.

“I kinda don’t wanna go at all,” he mumbled.

Hardison sat up.

“Man, don’t play. We’re in _Oklahoma._  You think I’d be here if you hadn’t said you wanted me to come? This state hasn’t voted democrat in any presidential election in _fifty years_ ,” he said, voice rising in pitch. “I’m a _black man_ in a state so white _Donald Trump_ didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. I’m not gonna tell you what to do or nothin’, you know, it’s your life, but…”

Eliot moved to the other couch and sat.

“I’m gonna go. I promised Aunt Beth, and she was one of the few people in my life back then who looked out for me. I owe it to her. I owe it to Chase. But I ain’t gonna enjoy it, and I ain’t stayin’ any longer than I gotta,” he said.

“Why do you hate it here so much?” Parker asked from the doorway, and they both jumped, not knowing she was there. She climbed over the back of the couch Eliot sat on and slid to sit next to him.

Eliot ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t… I don't like talkin’ about it. But I trust y’all. I, uh. My father, he was an abusive drunk. Still is, I guess. My stepmom, Chase and Laurel June’s mom, she wasn’t much better. Wasn’t a drunk, but she was a gossip. I did what I could to keep the younger kids from gettin’ in trouble with them, and a lotta the time that meant taking the blame and the punishment, or covering up what they done so our parents never found out at all.”

“What about your mom?” Hardison asked. “Your real mom.”

Eliot smiled softly. “She was great. Overworked. Tired all the time. But great. She couldn’t support herself and the three of us full-time, so she never tried to get full custody of us even though she knew how bad our father was. But I never really blamed her. She used to, uh. Let us stay up late and watch _Letterman_ with her. After a while she remarried and her new husband was a good guy. Distant maybe, but he never tried to be our dad. I ‘preciated that. He just looked out for us.”

He trailed off and his smile faltered. He felt the question Parker was dying to ask and answered it. “She died when I was seventeen. That’s what made me join the military. Couldn’t live at my father’s anymore. Couldn’t stand it, not without my mom every other weekend. Pat, her husband, didn’t have any legal standing to get us kids over our birth father, so I left. Graduated high school as soon as I could and got the hell out of there.”

“You ever been back?” Hardison asked quietly.

“Not yet.”


	2. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: racism, ableism (including an ableist slur), domestic abuse (non-explicit), child abuse and neglect (non-explicit), violent impulses, mentions of sibling and parent death, and some non-explicit mentions of drug overdose and alcoholism
> 
> liberties were taken on the parts about social services ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Don’t say anything about what we really do,” Eliot instructed. Parker and Hardison nodded solemnly in the passenger seat and backseat respectively. “If they ask, an’ they will, say the three of us work at a school.”

“What kind of school?” Parker asked. “What’s it called?”

Eliot waved a hand while he thought, chewing the inside of his lip as he changed lanes on the turnpike.

“Uh… A public middle school. Pick a real one in Portland,” he told Hardison, who already had his phone out and started typing.

“Mount Tabor Middle, in the Portland Public Schools district,” Hardison said after a pause.

“Not Tabor, I got a cousin named that,” Eliot said.

“Okay,” Hardison said, a little exasperated. “West Sylvan Middle, then.”

Eliot nodded. “I’ll teach gym and… I dunno, give me something else.”

Hardison hummed as he scrolled down the website. “Study hall. Sorry, man, ‘interrogation techniques’ wasn’t an option,” he deadpanned when Eliot shot him a glare in the rearview mirror. “I’ll take technology education, media arts, and yearbook journalism,” he said, then passed his phone to Parker.

“Special education coordinator,” Parker said after a pause, then handed the phone back.

“Really?” Eliot asked.

She shrugged. “Mine were always mean. I can do that.”

“Alright,” Eliot acquiesced.

“What names we using?” Hardison asked, pulling his computer out. “Should I change the school website just in case?”

Eliot nodded. “Pick a name you got the documents for,” he told them. “I’m just gonna use my name. Since they’re family and all.”

“Okay, one Eliot Spencer, Gym Teacher, coming up.”

He grimaced. “Not that name, hon.”

Hardison looked confused, and Eliot sighed.

“Eliot Spencer’s not the name they know me by,” he explained in a mumble. “They call me Danny. Daniel Gillespie.”

Parker looked at him and he felt Hardison’s eyes on the back of his head.

“What, you think I’m gonna use my birth name to beat the shit out of the world’s worst bad guys?” Eliot asked rhetorically, and Hardison shrugged.

“Nah, that’s fair,” he said, and started typing.

“You never told us that,” Parker said, sounding hurt.

Eliot sighed. “I haven’t been Danny for a long time, Parker. Eliot’s who I am now.”

“Then why not tell them your real name?” she asked.

“You ever googled my name, Park?” he asked in answer, and she sat up straighter. “I don’t want them seein’ that.”

They were quiet, and after a few minutes Parker rummaged in the bag at her feet and came up with a couple of passports. “Erin Newell,” she said, handing one passport back to Hardison.

Eliot nodded. “Alright. Erin,” he said, committing it to memory. “Hardison?”

“Just a second.” A pause, some rustling. “Okay… Gerald Landry,” he said.

“Gerald. Gerald. Ger. I’m calling you Ger,” Eliot said.

“Are we dating?” Parker asked, and Eliot frowned.

“Definitely not the three of us,” he said. “They don’t know I’m bi. And I really don’t wanna explain polyamory or queerplatonicism to people who aren’t entirely sure about interracial marriage,” he said with a grimace.

“....Damn,” Hardison muttered.

“Uh huh,” Eliot agreed. “So, Park, you and me, maybe. Or you and Hardison. Y’all got any rings on you?”

Parker rummaged in her bag again and came up with a couple of gold bands and a diamond ring.

“Nothing for either of you,” she said, testing the rings on her own fingers.

“Nothing,” Hardison said, having looked through his own things.

“Me either. The engagement ring, then. And pick one of us to be engaged to,” Eliot said with a grin.

Parker looked between them with a sour expression. “I don’t want to marry either of you,” she said.

Eliot snickered and looked at Hardison in the rearview mirror. “We _know._ Pick whichever one of us you could _pretend_ to be engaged to easiest.”

“Think of it as a con,” Hardison said, sounding put out.

Parker crossed her arms and slumped down in her seat, effectively ending her involvement in the conversation.

Hardison sighed. “Fine, you know what?” He held his fist between the front seats until Eliot noticed. “We’ll decide ourselves.”

Eliot held out his own fist. “Two out of three. Ready?”

“Yeah. One, two, three, shoot.” Hardison had rock, Eliot had paper. One for Eliot. “One, two, three, shoot.” Hardison had paper, Eliot had scissors. Two for Eliot. “What!”

“You got a tell,” Eliot reminded him.

“ _You’re not even looking_.”

Eliot laughed and put his hand on Parker’s knee. “Looks like you and me are gettin’ hitched, little lady,” he drawled, and she grimaced.

“Don’t talk like that.”

He couldn’t help it. He was feeling increasingly nervous the closer they got to the turnoff. It wasn’t an emotion he knew how to handle, having not felt it much, and it was starting to come out in weird ways. He hadn’t seen any of his family in several years, and now he was returning for a funeral. He’d always hoped the next time he went back to his hometown would be for his _father’s_ funeral. Not Chase’s. He didn’t realize he was scratching his little bit of stubble hard until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“You alright, man?” Hardison asked gently. Eliot gripped the steering wheel tight with both hands.

“Tryin’ to be.”

“Are you nervous?” Parker asked.

“...Yeah.”

“Tell you what,” Hardison said. “You like bein’ bossy. Keep tellin’ us what not to do. Two birds.”

Eliot cracked a smile. He glanced at a road sign as they passed it. It would be another ten minutes or so until their turnoff.

“Fine. What do you want to know ‘bout?”

“Food,” Parker said, and Eliot grinned.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Well, first, in my family people will try to get you to try stuff you’ve never heard of before. If you ain’t absolutely sure what it is, don’t eat it. They like messing with northerners.”

“What would they try to get us to eat?” Parker asked.

“Their favorite is calf fries, lamb fries, or any other kind of fries preceded by an animal name. Don’t eat those.”

“What’s that?” Hardison asked, and Eliot snorted before answering, anticipating both of their reactions.

“Testicles.”

As predicted, both of his partners cried out in disgust.

“People _eat testicles_ here?” Hardison squealed.

“All the time. You get ‘em cooked right, they’re actually pretty good,” Eliot said with a shrug.

Parker shuddered.

“Okay, good to know. What else?” Hardison asked.

“Grits. They’re not anything bad, but you wouldn’t like ‘em. Bad texture,” he said, and felt like he was committing blasphemy for shit-talking grits in the South. He didn’t care. Grits were bad.

“Hey now, I love grits,” Hardison said, but Parker shook her head in distaste.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Eliot said, grimacing at Hardison in the rearview mirror.

“Anything else?”

Eliot thought for a minute. “My Uncle Don will be there and’ll probably bring a pan of biscuits. Don’t eat those.”

“Why?” Parker asked.

“We used to call ‘em moon rocks,” Eliot explained in a deadpan.

“Ouch,” Hardison mumbled.

“Why’d you pick the name Eliot?” Parker asked, changing the subject completely.

Eliot took a second to mentally change gears and then said, “I didn’t.”

When Parker frowned at him in confusion, he smiled softly. “It was one of my first aliases. Beirut, 2005, courtesy of the US government. Someone in the CIA or somethin’ set it all up and picked the names. I was Eliot Jordan. Used that name for… man, it was probably six months at least. After I finished with that mission I decided I liked it and kept it in my back pocket. Once I left the military and went freelance I picked it up again.”

“Then where’d you get Spencer?” Hardison asked.

“You have to ask?” Eliot raised an eyebrow as he looked at Hardison in the rearview mirror. “You really never did any super-spy hackin’ on me? Have you been payin’ attention at _all_ while plannin’ this trip?”

Hardison shook his head. “Never had a reason to, and in my defense I was busy getting the people that _were_ in the Presidential Suite out of there. Why?”

That question could not have come at a better time in their drive.

“You’ll find out in a couple minutes,” Eliot replied, trying not to laugh.

Sure enough, three miles later they passed a road sign saying, “Exit 131: Spencer, ½ mile” and Eliot pointed to it wordlessly, then changed lanes.

Parker sat straight up and Hardison smacked the back of Eliot’s seat.

“Seriously? You named yourself after your hometown?” Hardison laughed.

Eliot just grinned and hoped they couldn’t see the panic rising in his throat as he took the exit that led to his past.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later Eliot turned into the front lawn across the street from his father’s house. Half the town of Spencer seemed to have come out to pay their respects, and Eliot swallowed to try to combat his suddenly bone-dry throat. He put the car in park and sat there, trying to get up the courage to get out.

He felt a light touch on his arm and jumped.

“You gonna be okay, man?” Hardison asked.

Eliot worried his lip between his teeth. “I’m always okay,” he replied, but his voice didn’t carry the conviction he wanted.

“We’re going to be there with you the whole time,” Parker reminded him, and that soothed him, if only a little. Still, it was enough to let him turn off the car and take a deep breath.

He slowly got out, pausing to adjust the hem of his shirt and run a clammy hand through his hair. Parker came around the car to stand at his elbow, and when he started walking towards the house she took his hand. Hardison fell into step behind them.

“You don’t hafta hold my hand,” Eliot hissed.

“We’re engaged, _Danny_ ,” Parker replied, and damn but it was weird to hear that name come out of her mouth.

“What was your last name?” Hardison asked. “Graham?”

“Gillespie,” Eliot said.

“Right, right. Listen, I got the comms right here, do y’all want them?”

Eliot shook his head as they walked the last few yards to the front door. “This ain’t a con, Hardison. It’s my family.”

He paused at the door to ready himself, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door.

Walking into a crowded and noisy room only for everyone to fall silent when you do is always nerve wracking, and doubly so when you’re Eliot Spencer and that usually happens right before a roomful of people launch themselves at you, oftentimes with firearms or other weapons.

The living room of his father’s house was mostly unchanged from twelve years ago, with the exception of a flatscreen television in place of the old boxy one, and the roughly twenty people staring at him. Most of them were familiar; the Franklins from next door (elderly now), Sheriff Odell (or at least he used to be sheriff), Mr. Brown from the high school, various aunts and uncles and cousins with varying degrees of familiarity, and in his favorite chair next to the space heater, Waylon Gillespie. Everyone was staring at Eliot, and no one moved until Waylon stood up.

He was a grizzled old man now, frown lines firmly set and hair going grey. He dressed the way he always did, in the kind of striped button up shirt where the buttons snapped instead of went through buttonholes, tucked into a pair of Wrangler jeans without a belt. Eliot had been told throughout his childhood that he was just like his father, and that had never been a compliment to him, though it was frequently intended as one. That was one of the myriad reasons he’d grown his hair out after leaving the military.

Waylon walked up to Eliot with an unreadable expression on his face and Eliot fought to stand his ground and maintain eye contact. Parker squeezed his hand and that was what most kept him from withering under his father’s stare, as did the knowledge that Hardison was right behind him.

Waylon stopped in front of him and studied him, looking him head to toe with that same unreadable expression, then stuck out a rough hand.

“Welcome back, Danny,” he said with a small smile, and Eliot shook his hand, pouring every ounce of control he had over his body into his hand to keep it from trembling.

“Hi, Dad,” he replied, because you couldn’t call Waylon anything except that if you were one of his kids, no matter what. The other people in the room started going back to whatever they were talking about, though at a lower volume and with less attention, and Eliot knew they were all eavesdropping.

“Been a while.”

“Yeah. Been busy.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.

“You need a haircut,” his father said, and Eliot nodded obediently, with no intention of cutting his hair.

Waylon nodded towards Parker and Hardison. “Who’s this?”

Eliot hesitated, suddenly afraid to get them involved. If Waylon didn’t know they existed and were important to him, they couldn’t get hurt. Parker nudged him after he deliberated for a couple seconds.

“Dad, this is my fiancee, Erin Newell.” Parker smiled her most charming smile and let go of Eliot’s hand to shake Waylon’s, and Eliot felt rage flare in his stomach at that. He didn’t want him touching her. He swallowed it and stepped aside so Hardison could step forward.

“And this is my best friend, Gerald Landry. We were in the service together,” Eliot explained shortly.

“Sir,” Hardison said, his voice deeper and smoother than usual as he reached out to shake Waylon’s hand, too. He was actually playing this like a con, Eliot realized. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, young man. Y’all can call me Waylon,” he said. He turned to Eliot. “Fiancee? You’re, what, thirty-five and only now getting married?”

Eliot gritted his teeth. He’d need a bite guard soon if his father didn’t shut up. “I’m twenty-nine,” he said, malice seeping just slightly into his voice.

Waylon shrugged, and Parker’s hand found its way back into Eliot’s.

“I get y’all mixed up.”

He seemed to remember something and beckoned them further into the room. “Come on in, sit down. Must’ve been a long drive if y’all’re only getting here now,” he said, his hint brimming with resentment. “Where _did_ y’all come from?”

Eliot sat on the couch, which had been vacated seconds before by a couple of cousins Eliot couldn’t remember the names of, and Parker and Hardison sat on either side of him.

“Portland,” Eliot said shortly. He didn't need to know they flew.

Waylon’s eyebrows shot up. “Oregon? That hippy-dippy state? Don’t tell me you’re _happy_ there, son.”

Eliot had to pause to breathe through the rage that threatened to spill over before he answered.

“Actually, I am, Dad. I’ve got a job there and a life and people I love,” he said, loading the last word with a heavy hint.

“A job, huh. So you’re not in the corps anymore, then. What kind of job would take you, since you only got military experience?”

Eliot felt a little pride at that, because he was more successful than his father would ever know. He had been to culinary school, was almost finished with his bachelor’s degree, had saved thousands of people _not_ as a soldier, had found a real family, and most importantly, he had greatly exceeded his father’s expectations of his potential. And Waylon would never find out.

“I’m a teacher. All three of us are,” he said, letting his pride slip through into his voice. “I went to school after I got out of the Army.”

Waylon looked impressed, but Eliot could read him well enough to see the animosity behind his eyes.

“What do you teach?” he asked, and Eliot knew it was a test.

“P.E. and study hall for now, but I’m getting my certification to teach middle school English soon,” Eliot replied, adding the last part to keep rubbing his success in his father’s face, even if the actual success he had didn’t match up with his story. He couldn’t very well tell his father what he really did, after all.

“Following in your sister’s footsteps, then?” Waylon asked, and Eliot’s breath caught when he remembered abruptly that Marie had been a teacher. Then his rage bubbled up and threatened to spill out.

 _Don’t you dare talk about Marie,_ he wanted to scream at his father.

“I guess,” he replied instead.

“And you, darlin’, what did you say your name was?” Waylon cooed at Parker, who looked disgusted for a split second.

“Erin,” she said curtly, and Eliot squeezed her hand in warning.

“Erin, right. What do you teach?” Waylon was leaning forward and smiling as he talked to Parker, and Eliot wanted to punch him.

“I’m the special education coordinator at West Sylvan Middle, where we all teach,” she said haltingly, her grifter training useless all of a sudden.

“Special ed. Damn. Workin’ with retards and all? That’s tough,” Waylon said, and only Parker’s hand in Eliot’s kept him from launching across the room at his father, and from how stiff Parker was at his side, he suspected the same was true for her.

Hardison opened his mouth to correct Waylon, but stopped when Eliot shot him a glare. You didn’t correct Waylon Gillespie.

“Uh-huh,” Parker said, voice tight and face expressionless. “Yep.”

“Well, I commend you,” Waylon said, voice dripping with condescension he tried to mask as respect. “And you, sir, what do you teach?”

While Hardison answered, a movement out of the corner of Eliot’s eye made him look around the room. When he turned his head to see what had gotten his attention he saw his sister Laurel June standing on the periphery of the loose circle made by the couches and chairs in the living room. She was thinner than she used to be, and taller, and her brown hair fell straight around her shoulders as she looked at the ground, hands clasped in front of her, clearly waiting for a break in the conversation. She was all grown up.

Before Waylon could open his mouth to badmouth Hardison’s “career,” Eliot put out a hand.

“Dad, uh, could we continue this conversation later? I haven’t gotten a chance to say hi to everyone else,” he said, and Waylon raised his eyebrows.

“Sure thing,” he said, waving them off and winking at Parker.

Eliot stood and turned to Laurel June, who wordlessly launched herself into his arms. He just hugged her tight for half a minute, smiling into her hair, then pulled back, sensing his partners’ unease at being left alone in a house full of strangers.

“Hi Junebug,” he said softly, then wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Danny,” she said, like she didn’t believe he was really there, and then hugged him again.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he murmured, looking panicked over her head at Hardison, who shrugged uselessly. Laurel June just squeezed him tighter.

“Hey, now, lemme look at you,” he said, then pried her away from him and stood at arm’s length. She sniffled and wiped at her face, then smiled wetly at him.

“That’s better,” he said uselessly, out of his depth. His siblings had always been more overtly emotional than he was, and he was out of practice dealing with that.

“Sorry, it’s… been a rough coupla days,” she apologized, then set her jaw stubbornly and Eliot knew he was in for it. “And then my dumbass brother had to go and show up like he never left.”

Hardison froze behind her and Eliot grinned. “I missed you too, Junebug.”

Laurel June slapped his chest. “Asshole.”

Eliot grinned wider, slipping back into the annoying older brother role he hadn’t had much cause to display in twelve years. “Takes one to know one, _Junie_.”

She slapped him again. “Introduce me to your friends,” she commanded.

Eliot pulled Parker close and smiled sweetly at her. “Junie, this is my fiancee, Erin. Erin, this is my annoying little sister, Laurel June.”

“Hi,” Parker said. “I am dating your brother.” Eliot nudged her.

“She knows that,” he reminded her.

Laurel June smiled, but Eliot could see that she was a little unsure of Parker. “Welcome to the family, Erin,” she said anyway.

“And that beanpole behind you is Gerald, my best friend,” Eliot said, and Hardison stepped forward, taking Laurel June’s hand and kissing it.

“Pleasure,” he said. Eliot shook his head in warning at Hardison.

“Oh, uh. Thanks,” Laurel June said, taking her hand back and looking nervous. She turned back to Eliot.

“I got married,” she said quickly, and he blinked. Hardison rubbed a hand over his short hair.

“No you didn’t,” Eliot retorted. “Who’d marry a brat like you?”

Laurel June made a face at him. “Hunter Classen,” she said haughtily, showing him her ring. Eliot gritted his teeth. Hunter Classen was his age, had bullied Seth all throughout elementary school, and was an alcoholic before even graduating high school.

“No shit?” Eliot asked. “He treat you right? I gotta beat the shit outta him?”

She hesitated before setting her jaw and Eliot couldn’t help but notice her tug at the sleeve of her shirt almost absentmindedly. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, Danny. I’m alright.”

Fury flared in his stomach and Parker squeezed his hand.

Eliot tried to let it go and the most he could manage was filing it away for later. “Where’s Seth?” he asked, opting to change the subject. The only other surviving Gillespie kid ought to join in on this reunion.

Laurel June’s face turned apologetic. “He left when you showed up. Went out the back door.”

Eliot opened his mouth to curse Seth, but was pulled into a hug from behind before he could get anything out. His eyes widened and his brain screamed _DANGER_  at him and he only narrowly avoided flipping the assailant over his shoulder. He managed to only jump and pull himself away, heart racing.

“Well if it ain’t little Daniel,” a booming voice said, and he turned to see his Aunt Beth, bigger than he remembered, grinning at him.

He forced his heart to stop pounding and let out a breath before forcing a smile and hugging her properly.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered into his ear.

They played the introduction game again, Parker finally getting into her character and Hardison finally finding the balance between charming and unobtrusive. Laurel June wandered off while Aunt Beth gave him a quick rundown of the changes in the family and town. After a couple of minutes Parker and Hardison left under the guise of getting something from the car, and Eliot silently thanked them for the space.

“--Laurel June got married, you knew that, about two years ago, and they got a little one on the way, and Chase--” she cut herself off abruptly, face falling when she remembered why Eliot was there in the first place.

Eliot looked away, trying to avoid thinking about it too much, and scanned the room out of habit. Faces were starting to look more familiar, stories and gossip appearing out of the woodwork of his mind to fill in personalities where he’d long forgotten them. Suddenly his eyes alighted on a small girl of perhaps four, sitting calmly on the floor under the dining table, watching things unfold around her while clutching a stuffed koala to her chest. She didn’t seem to be attended to by anyone, and Eliot squinted when he saw half-healed bruises on her exposed arms.

“Who’s that?” Eliot asked Aunt Beth as she started to continue with her story. He nodded towards the girl and Beth turned until she saw who he was nodding at. She turned back with a pained expression.

“That’s what I been trying to tell you, Danny,” she said, lowering her voice. “Chase had a kid.”

Eliot’s heart stopped and he stared at the little girl.

Beth leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “He got a girl pregnant when they were in high school. Danae Baker, you ‘member her? They both dropped out and Chase worked to support both of ‘em. Danae run off after Rosie there was born.”

“Rosie?” Eliot asked, the wind still knocked out of him. He didn’t remember Danae, but he hated her for leaving her kid, and for a second he hated Chase for overdosing when he had a daughter to take care of.  

“Short for Rosalia,” Aunt Beth explained, and the girl in question looked at him just then and he could see the resemblance in her features--the tan of his and Chase’s little bit of Cherokee ancestry, curly dark hair like her father, a cleft chin like her grandmother. “Laurel June and Hunter are looking after her for now,” Beth continued, and that finally snapped his attention back to her.

“Seriously?” he asked, rage shooting hot and quick through his veins and he fought to keep his voice low and posture relaxed. “You know Hunter beats Junie, don’t you? You really think a kid is safe there?”

Beth looked alarmed. “He doesn’t, does he? How do you know?”

Eliot closed his eyes and breathed so he wouldn’t cause a scene at his brother’s funeral. “Start watchin’ for it and you’ll see.”

He walked off, leaving Aunt Beth floundering and willing his anger to quiet as he made a beeline for the dining table and crouched down.

“Hi,” he said, smiling reassuringly as the last of his anger melted away. “My name’s Danny. I’m your dad’s brother, your uncle.”

Rosie had hidden behind her koala when he walked up, and she slowly peeked out.

“I’m Rosalia,” she whispered. He smiled bigger at her and felt lots of eyes on him as he reached a hand between the legs of the chairs in the way.

“Nice to meet you, Rosalia.” She cautiously shook his hand. “Whatcha doin’ under there?”

She shrugged.

“That’s alright,” he said quietly. “Sometimes we all need a break.” She nodded and buried her face into her koala.

“How old are you?” Eliot asked, and she cautiously held up five fingers.

“Five? Wow,” he said, “that’s so big.” He looked over his shoulder and saw his father staring at him, and he panicked briefly. He had to get out of there, kid be damned.

“Listen, I gotta go now, Rosalia, but it was real nice to meet you. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He stood painfully (the position he’d crouched in did no favors for his bum knee) and turned away from the table, and he heard chairs scraping on the linoleum and then a pair of thin, strong arms latched onto his leg. He looked down and saw Rosie clinging to him, koala abandoned, face pressed into his hip, and his heart broke. He looked up to see every person in the room staring at him, including Parker and Hardison just inside the door, and he smiled nervously while he pried Rosie’s arms from around his leg and held onto her hands. He kneeled to be at eye level with her.

“Sweetheart, I gotta go,” he explained in a soft voice. She shook her head adamantly.

He thought he knew what was bothering her, and tested his theory. “Do you like livin’ with Aunt Laurel June and Uncle Hunter?” he whispered. She shook her head.

“How come?”

She hesitated and then leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Uncle Hunter yells.”

Eliot let out a breath, theory mostly confirmed. “Does he hit?”

She didn’t respond, and her silence told her all he needed to know. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, that ain’t fair.”

He hesitated, then gave in and spoke what was on his mind. “I’m gonna do my best to help you, Rosie, okay?” he whispered. She nodded.

“Okay. I really do gotta go now, but I will see you tomorrow. Sound good?”

She hugged him tight, strong for her size, and when she finally let go he stood and turned away, resisting the urge to look back. His heart broke again with every step farther, and by the time he reached his partners he was a wreck. He was Eliot Spencer, though, and no one could tell. Except his partners, that is.

“What was that?” Hardison asked in a murmur.

“Tell you later. Let’s go,” Eliot grunted.

They quickly said their goodbyes for the evening and left.

On the drive back to the hotel Hardison tried to get him to talk multiple times, but each time Eliot just tightened his hands on the steering wheel and urged the car a little faster on the highway.

Halfway there, Parker broke her silence. She’d been staring at him in the brief flashes of streetlights the whole time.

“I know that look,” she said. Eliot glanced at her long enough to see that her mouth was set in a line and her eyes were narrowed. “That’s the face you make when there’s a kid in trouble.”

He stepped on the gas a little harder. “Do not.”

“Do too.”

“That kid back there. The little girl. She in trouble?” Hardison asked.

Eliot gave in and nodded once. “You need your computers for this,” he told Hardison. “I need you to hack into social services.”

 

* * *

 

Back in their suite Hardison swiftly set up his workstation and logged in.

“I’m guessing I should be looking at Oklahoma social services, which is called the Department of Human Services,” Hardison said almost to himself as he started working.

After just a couple minutes he had a search screen pulled up and Eliot, leaning over his shoulder, with Parker sitting on the couch to his other side, pointed to the first box.

“Her name’s Rosalia Gillespie, I think. Might be a different last name.” He pointed to another box. “Birth mother is Danae Baker. Birth father Chase Gillespie.”

Hardison’s hands froze on the keyboard and he looked over his shoulder. “She’s your niece?”

Eliot nodded and pointed to another box. “She’s five.”

“Where’s her mom?” Parker asked.

“Gone,” he said bitterly.

“‘Gone’ as in _gone_ or ‘gone’ as in dead?” Hardison asked. When Eliot stared at him he indicated the screen. “It’s on the thing, man, I’m just askin’.”

“Gone. Run off,” Eliot gritted out.

Hardison typed and checked boxes. “You know any of their socials or birthdates?” he asked.

“I know Chase’s birthdate,” Eliot offered. “November 9th, 1993.”

“That should be enough to find a match,” Hardison said, and when he hit enter a short list of possible matches in the system showed up.

“That one,” Eliot pointed. “Rosalia Baker.”

“Rosalia Nicole Baker,” Hardison began, using his briefing voice. “Born December 12, 2008 to parents Danae Baker and Chase Gillespie. Currently residing with godmother Laurel June Classen and godfather Hunter Franklin Classen pending a DHS hearing.”

The summary Hardison pulled up showed multiple complaints--domestic calls to Chase’s house to find him high or drunk, Rosalia showing up late to kindergarten hungry and with bruises, and the latest entry was dated the night Chase died. When the police had shown up alongside the paramedics they’d found Rosalia in her room screaming and crying, the door locked from the outside.

Parker sat withdrawn and silent as Hardison read, and he had to stop to take a difficult breath a few times before continuing. Eliot had to sit down so his knees wouldn’t give out, and he stared in horror at the screen. She’d been through so much in just five years.

“She can’t stay at Laurel June’s,” Eliot said when Hardison finished reading the summary of Rosalia’s life on DHS’s radar.  

Parker agreed.

“Why not?” Hardison asked. “She seemed okay.”

“Her husband isn’t,” Eliot said, and Hardison looked disbelieving.

“Thought you hadn’t met him?”

“Oh, no, I met him. I sat behind him in homeroom and I pulled him off my brother more times than I can count,” Eliot said. “And Junie’s afraid of him, I can tell. So’s Rosie.”

“Is that what you were asking her about?” Hardison asked grimly.

Eliot gritted his teeth. “She said he yells. I asked if he hit, too, and she didn’t answer.”

Hardison sucked in a breath. “Goddamn.” He took a second to regroup. “So if Laurel June and Hunter are no good, who gets her next?” he asked no one in particular, then started typing.

“Waylon and Marcie Gillespie,” he answered himself a second later.

Eliot growled. “Not happenin’.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Hardison muttered, typing again. “Seth Gillespie next, no spouse, and with two DUIs on record. Chances don’t look good there,” he mumbled.

Eliot closed his eyes. _Goddamn it, Seth_.

He heard more typing, and then Hardison was quiet. After a pause he heard Hardison groan.

“You ain’t gonna like this, man,” Hardison said. “After Seth is foster care.”

Eliot leaned back, running his hands through his hair and trying to think.

Aunt Beth? No, she was too old, and didn’t have the resources for a kid besides. He had other aunts and uncles and cousins, but none of them stuck out as being particularly nurturing and stable for a five year old abuse survivor.

The foster system was a toss up, with way more stories like Parker’s than Hardison’s, and he wasn’t going to risk that.

“You could take her,” Parker said quietly, and Eliot sat up and stared at her.

“Parker, I can’t just…” he trailed off.

Well, why couldn’t he? There was no way he’d let any of his family keep her; that was no place for a kid, especially not where Waylon and Hunter could get at her.

He’d have to take her to Portland, though, and that would present some challenges legally. He wasn’t going to kidnap her, but he also wasn’t moving back to Oklahoma permanently. Then there were the small matters of his job and his past. If he was taking care of a child he’d need to be absolutely certain she’d be safe with him, not just from abuse, but from drug lords and mob bosses and henchmen of former marks. And who would take care of her when he was on jobs?

Plus, if he got custody of Rosalia, that would mean a permanent link to his family of origin, and he had planned to sever those ties gradually and completely.

But still…. She clearly trusted him. She had just met him and trusted him enough to tell him what happened to her. He couldn’t just leave her and hope the system worked, because his partners knew better than anyone how rarely that happened.

And, he had come to realize over the last couple years, he was ready to be a father. Longed to be a father. Surely a custodial uncle wouldn’t be much different.

He squared his shoulders and nodded. “Hardison, what can we do?”

Parker smiled and Hardison set his jaw, turning back to his computer.

“I can pull Waylon’s name from the pot and add yours, and then one of us could pose as a social--”

“No, no, I ain’t doin’ that,” Eliot interrupted. “I want to do this by the book as much as we can.”

“By the book won’t work. Social services isn’t good at what they do,” Parker said. “If we’re getting Rosalia we need to treat this like a con.”

Eliot thought for a second, then smirked. “I s’pose we could give them a little tip about Hunter, then. You know, get this thing movin’.”

Hardison grinned and hit a few keys. 

Parker suddenly got up, went to the bedroom, and came back with a marker, then grabbed Eliot’s wrist and pulled him towards the bathroom. He protested and Hardison followed them.

In the bathroom Parker let Eliot go and started drawing on the mirror. Eliot reached up to grab her hand to stop her but then realized the marker she was using was dry erase and he let her get on with it.

“The hell you doing?” Hardison asked her.

“We need a timeline and plan,” Parker said, hopping up onto the counter and writing Rosalia’s name at the top of the wide mirror. She paused, thought, and then snapped her fingers. “We also need Sophie.”


	3. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: death, vague homophobia and racism, references to child abuse, references to alcohol and alcoholism, mentions of doctors and hospitals, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

The next morning Eliot woke before his partners and carefully wriggled out of the king sized bed they’d shared. It was no small feat; when they shared a bed Hardison tended to sleep half on top of Eliot, and Parker usually curled up tight against his other side. Even still, he managed to extricate himself without waking either of them. He pulled a pair of jeans on over his boxers and decided his tshirt was good enough for now.

Padding barefoot through the suite, he set up his laptop at the far side of the sitting room, where his partners wouldn’t be woken up if he talked at a normal volume. He shot a text to Nate as he connected to Hardison’s wifi and pulled up Skype. A minute later there was a call request and he accepted it.

As with their last call, Sophie’s face filled the screen when the call started, with Nate off to the side, but this time instead of smiling she looked panicked. Nate looked worried, too.

“ _Eliot! Eliot, dear, is everything alright?_ ” Sophie asked, and Eliot belatedly realized he hadn’t talked to them at all after getting the news about Chase, until last night when he texted them to set up a skype call the next morning.

Eliot waved his hands in a placating gesture. “Sophie, breathe, we’re all fine.” She visibly calmed, and he shook his head. “Fine, 'course, being subjective…”

Sophie started freaking out again and Nate leaned forward.

“ _What’s going on? Are you in trouble?_ ” he asked. He squinted at the screen. “ _Where are you?_ ”

“We’re in a hotel in Oklahoma City,” Eliot said. “Sophie, please chill out. We’re not in trouble.”

“ _Oklahoma City?_ ” Nate asked, brow furrowing.

“Yeah, we’re--can you do something 'bout her, she’s making me nervous,” Eliot said, indicating Sophie, who was staring, unblinking, at her computer like it had personally taken all three of her surrogate children hostage. Nate frowned irritably at him and rubbed his wife’s back, murmuring in her ear until she blinked and looked like she could hold a conversation.

“Alright. Better?” Eliot asked. Sophie nodded. “Okay. We’re in Oklahoma City ‘cuz my brother died.”

They both looked sympathetic, and Sophie reached a hand out like she could reach all the way through the internet from wherever the hell they were and pat his knee soothingly.

“ _Oh, Eliot, I’m so sorry_ ,” she breathed. He nodded, uncomfortable with all the attention by now.

“ _That’s horrible_ ,” Nate said. “ _How old was he?”_

“Almost twenty-two. Overdose,” Eliot explained, and Nate closed his eyes as if in pain.

“ _Is that what the call was about the other day?_ ” Sophie asked, and Eliot nodded.

“Yeah. The, uh, the funeral is today. I saw my family last night for the first time in twelve years,” he said with a grimace. Nate winced.

“That’s… why I’m calling, actually,” he continued. They both sat forward, listening intently, and the symmetry in their body language was almost amusing. “Turns out my brother had a daughter. Five years old. Rosalia.”

Sophie’s eyes went soft, but Nate’s brow furrowed. “ _F_ _ive? And your brother was twenty-one? That means--_ ”

“Yeah, yeah, he knocked up a girl in high school,” Eliot cut him off. “My brother was never known for making good decisions. Anyway, Rosalia’s mother ran off after she was born and now her father’s dead, so…”

“ _Foster care?_ ” Sophie asked.

Eliot shook his head. “Not if I can help it. She’s with my sister and her husband right now, but the husband is abusive. Rosie’s father mistreated her too. And next in line after my sister and her husband is my father, who abused me and my siblings our whole lives. And after him is my other brother, who has a coupla DUIs and won’t talk to me. And _then_ foster care. So I’m out of safe options if I’m gonna keep her outta the system.”

“ _U_ _nless you take her_ ,” Nate guessed. Eliot nodded. Nate let out a long breath. “ _It’s gonna be tough._ ”

“Which is why we need you,” Eliot said. “Both of you.”

Nate and Sophie looked at each other, Sophie scowling and Nate looking triumphant.

“What?” Eliot asked suspiciously.

“ _We had a bet going, see_ ,” Nate explained. “ _I thought you guys would ask for our help within six weeks of our wedding day, and she thought you’d take longer than that. Today is four weeks and five days since our wedding, which means I win._ ”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “What’d you win?”

“ _Nothing you need to know about_ ,” Nate said, and Sophie winked. Eliot made a face.

“Y’all’re nasty. You in or not?” he asked.

“ _What do you need?_ ” Sophie asked.

Suddenly Parker plunked down next to Eliot and he jumped. He hadn’t heard her get up or get dressed, and she’d evidently crossed the long room unnoticed. He was losing his edge.

“We need fresh faces. Also better grifters,” Parker said.

“ _Hi Parker_ ,” Nate said slowly, clearly demonstrating what a greeting was. Parker narrowed her eyes.

“ _Why didn’t you call Tara? Or Maggie? They’d both be brilliant at this_ ,” Sophie reminded them.

Eliot shook his head. “I never trusted Tara, and I definitely don’t trust her with this. And Maggie’s good, but she’s no Sophie.” He smiled sweetly, appealing to Sophie’s vanity.

“Also she’s on vacation in Europe,” Parker added. Sophie threw her hands up.

“ _So are we!_ ”

“Yeah, but we _like_ you better,” Parker whined.

Eliot cleared his throat. “ _You_ do at least,” he muttered, fighting to keep his smirk off his face until Sophie exclaimed indignantly.

“Are you in or out?” Parker asked, ignoring Eliot.

“ _We’re_ …” Nate trailed off, looking to Sophie, who had collected herself and nodded. " _We’re in_.”

“Cool,” Parker said. “When can you get here? We can stall for a day, maybe, but the sooner we get going the sooner we can go home.”

Sophie blinked and Nate floundered. He looked around himself. “ _We can, uh, I don’t know_.”

“What do you need? Plane tickets? Hardison can get you tickets. And a hotel room, too,” Parker said.

Sophie laughed. “ _Parker, um. Okay. We can get plane tickets just fine. A hotel room would be lovely, though. We could be ready to leave in just a few hours, you think?_ ” She asked Nate, who nodded.

“ _Tell you what_ ,” Nate said. “ _We’ll book our tickets and then text you the information, and you do the same with the hotel info. You’re in Oklahoma City, you said?_ ”

Eliot nodded.

“ _Okay. We’ll be in touch_ ,” Nate said, reaching to end the call.

“Wait!” Parker exclaimed, leaning in close. Nate froze. “Did you know that Eliot Spencer’s not his real name?” she asked conspiratorially.

“ _We assumed_ ,” Nate said slowly.

Eliot rolled his eyes and pushed Parker out of the way. “Eliot _is_ my real name. It’s just not the one I was born with,” he explained to Nate and Sophie. They both nodded like they had assumed that, too. “You’re gonna need to know my birth name anyway, for the job. It’s Daniel Gillespie,” he revealed. “Eliot was my first alias and I liked it so I kept it around. Spencer is my hometown.”

“ _S_ _pencer, Oklahoma_ ,” Nate deadpanned, and Eliot nodded. Nate hummed, looking impressed.

Sophie looked at him sympathetically. “ _You’ll always be Eliot Spencer to me_ ,” she said affectionately, and he grinned. _“Except, of course, during jobs.”_

“Thanks, Soph.”

“ _Can we go now?_ ” Nate asked impatiently, still reaching for the keyboard.

“Yeah, go on. Let us know about the flights,” Eliot said.

“ _We will. We’re sorry about your brother, Eliot_ ,” Sophie said sympathetically.

“Thanks.”

“ _Okay, bye now_ ,” Nate said, and Eliot and Parker waved as he ended the call.

Eliot leaned back on the couch, abruptly realizing that the next obstacle of the day was the funeral. He groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face.

He felt Parker pat his chest and he smiled softly and reached out an arm without opening his eyes.

“C’mere,” he said, and after a moment’s hesitation he felt Parker lean her shoulder into him. He pulled her close to his chest and held her there, ignoring her protests. After squeezing for a moment with both arms he loosened his grip and she didn’t pull away. She wound her arms around his middle and he tightened his grip again.

“Thanks for comin’,” he murmured. “I dunno if I coulda done this without y’all here.”

She nodded. “We know.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other silently, before Eliot sighed and patted her back.

“We need to get goin’.”

She nodded and sat up.

“Did I wake you up earlier?” he asked when she yawned.

“I’m a light sleeper,” she said with a shrug. “Also, I think it was technically Sophie who woke me up.”

Eliot grinned. “Yeah, she panicked a little when she thought we were in trouble.”

They went back into the bedroom and found Hardison sprawled out in the middle of the bed, mouth hanging open, dead asleep. He had thrown the comforter off himself at some point. Eliot winked at Parker and then tickled the bottom of Hardison’s foot, causing him to jerk awake and pull his feet away roughly.

“Get up, man, it’s almost eight,” Eliot said, going to the closet.

Hardison looked around in alarm, blinking furiously, then slumped back down into the pillows and slung an arm over his eyes.

“Ugh. I hate you,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Nah,” Eliot called over his shoulder as he gathered his clothes and grabbed the ironing board.

Parker hopped up onto the bed next to Hardison and poked at him until he grudgingly rolled out of bed. He shuffled to the bathroom and Eliot watched through the doorway as he leaned in close to the mirror and stared at his reflection, then pulled at his cheeks.

“The hell are you doin’?” Eliot asked as he plugged in the iron.

“I don’t criticize how _you_ start the day,” Hardison said.

Eliot ironed his and Hardison’s shirts and slacks for the funeral while Hardison showered and Parker got dressed. He had just finished pressing Hardison’s collar when Parker came into the bedroom and spun around with her back to him.

“Zip me,” she commanded, and he frowned at the dress she wore. He turned her around.

“It’s a _funeral_ , Parker,” he said. Her dress was black, but wasn’t even close to knee length, and had a neckline that plunged nearly to her stomach. “It ain’t ladies night with Tara. Is this from the Ice Man job? The hell is that...”

She rolled her eyes and went back into the closet, grabbing a different dress and going back to the second bathroom to change.

When she emerged again just as Eliot finished hanging up Hardison’s freshly ironed shirt, he smiled. This dress was also black, and also relatively tight-fitting, but fell almost to her knees and included long sleeves and a neckline that was actually at her neck.

“Much better,” he said. She made a face and turned around so he could zip it up.

Once she was dressed she grabbed a flat iron from her bag (which he had _definitely_ not seen in there when he was unpacking the day before) and left again.

Eliot got dressed, taking extra time to tie his tie properly and fix his hair while Hardison got dressed.

“Hey, man, this good?” Hardison asked a few minutes later, posing, and Eliot grimaced.

“Lose the bolo tie,” he said, and when Hardison let out a complaint, he explained. “You know who wears bolo ties? Native dudes, Mexican dudes, and white dudes over 60. You ain’t any of those.”

Hardison grudgingly complied, grumbling about how his bolo tie was _Southern fashion, not that you’d understand that_.

Eliot just threw him a black tie he’d found among Hardison’s clothes, prompting more grumbling.

Finally, an hour before the funeral started and a thirty minute drive ahead of them, they were ready to go.

As the doors of the hotel elevator slid closed Hardison blocked them and made to go back to the room.

“Wait, weren’t we s’posed to skype Nate and Sophie this morning?” he asked. Eliot just grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back into the elevator.

“We already did,” he said. “They’re in.”

Hardison stared at him. “You didn’t wake me up? Rude. _Rude_.”

Eliot let go of him and shrugged. “Didn’t wake Parker up either, but she was there.”

This prompted an argument that persisted until Eliot took the exit for Spencer, with a short break to thank and tip the hotel’s valet, and only ended because Parker got tired of it and covered both of her partners’ mouths with her hands until they were calm.

At the church Hardison and Parker hung back until the funeral actually started, intending to sit with the rest of the attendees rather than with the family. All three wore comms this time, because it was a job now.

Eliot went inside the small church, one of several he’d attended as a kid with his parents and various extended family members, and quickly found the rest of the family gathered in a side room mostly used for Sunday School.

The first person he had to contend with was his stepmother, who had been out while he was at his father’s house the night before.

“I heard you’d been around to see us last night but I didn’t believe a word of it,” Marcie said, her smile huge and as fake as her hair color, as she pulled him into a hug.

“Hi,” he said, electing to play nice. It was her son’s funeral, after all. “Good to see you, Marcie.”

“Aw, quit with that formal talk, Danny, I _raised_ you,” she admonished him, and he tried to turn his grimace into a smile.

“Yes, ma’am. How you been?” he asked.

“Good, good. Well, you know, considering,” she said, sounding for the world like she was talking about a bad hair day or maybe a fender bender rather than the death of her only natural-born son.

“Uh huh.”

He heard Hardison’s voice in his ear. “ _Is this woman serious?_ ”

Eliot cleared his throat in warning and Parker shushed Hardison.

Marcie studied him and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, a remarkably gentle gesture for a woman who had once threatened to personally shave his head after a mediocre report card.

“Waylon tells me you’re a teacher now,” Marcie said, trying to draw him into conversation, and Eliot nodded. “That’s exciting. And you’re engaged?”

Parker groaned over the comms and Eliot almost turned the damn thing off. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, where is she?” Marcie asked, looking around, and then turned back and lowered her voice. “It is a _she_ , right, Danny?”

Eliot almost laughed but managed not to, no thanks to Hardison’s loud snort in his ear.

“Yes, ma’am, she is.”

“ _Mostly_ ,” Parker acquiesced. “ _Not always. But mostly._ ”

“Her name’s Erin. She’ll be here. You can meet her afterwards,” Eliot informed his stepmother. “I left her with my friend Gerald, they’re outside waiting for the service.”

“ _I don’t want to meet her!_ ”

“Yes, your daddy told me about him, too. Said he’s a--” she leaned in close, “--a _black_ man.” She whispered it like ‘black’ was a bad word.

Eliot barely suppressed a laugh. “Yes, he’s black.”

Marcie looked impressed, like she was impressed her stepson had made a black friend, and knowing her, that was probably exactly true.

Eliot itched to be rid of this conversation, so he let his eyes dart about the room, hoping to lock eyes with Laurel June or Aunt Beth to rescue him. Instead, his eyes met Seth’s, who was standing alone near a rack of cubbies with his hands shoved in his pockets, and Eliot swallowed.

Marcie noticed his reaction and followed his gaze. “Whoo,” she breathed. “You haven’t talked to him in a while, huh?”

Eliot mostly ignored her. “Marcie, uh, I’ll talk to you later. I gotta…”

He left without finishing his thought, walking cautiously up to Seth, and the small room seemed like a football field as he started to cross it.

“Hi,” he said quietly, imploring his brother to actually speak to him for once.

“Laurel June said you’d come,” Seth said, his brow furrowed, and despite the years since they’d last been face to face, Eliot recognized it as his troubled expression rather than his angry one. He looked... tired. He had dark rings under his eyes and his hair was mussed in the back. Eliot realized that Seth had pretty much always looked like that past the age of ten, but it had been so long since he’d last seen him that he’d forgotten the countless nights he’d woken up feeling his brother toss and turn on the top bunk of their bunk bed.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Eliot said, hoping if he just answered his brother’s questions and tried not to change anything, Seth would let him stay.

To his surprise, though, Seth closed the last couple feet between them and hugged him. Stunned, he patted Seth’s shoulder awkwardly, and Seth drew back, face red.

“Let’s… talk or somethin’, before you go back,” Seth mumbled.

Eliot smiled gently. “Yeah, get a beer or something.”

Seth shook his head. “No, I, uh. I quit drinkin’.”

Eliot remembered the DUI charges Seth carried and wondered if the sobriety was  court-mandated.

Eliot nodded. “That’s alright, we could get dinner. I’m stayin’ in OKC, you could come up with us.”

He suddenly felt a weight crashing into his legs and looked down to see a mass of fluffy black tulle attached to his leg. He smiled despite himself and tapped at Rosalia’s head until she let go and he bent down to her level.

“Hi, punkin,” he said, and she smiled shyly at him. “How’s it goin’?”

“You met Rosie?” Seth asked from above them.

Eliot nodded. “Found out all about her yesterday,” he said, letting Seth hear what he couldn’t say out loud. Seth raised his eyebrows and let a breath out.

“I see,” Seth said. “Looks like she likes you.”

Eliot grinned up at his brother. “Am I the _favorite_ uncle, then?”

Seth rolled his eyes and walked away.

Eliot returned his attention to Rosie.

“How you doin’ today?”

She shrugged.

“Sad?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Yeah. Me too,” he said quietly.

She studied him for a second. “How come I never met you before?” she asked.

He blinked. _She speaks_ , he wanted to say, but the humor would probably be lost on her.

“‘Cuz I live far away now, and I hadn’t been back here since before you were born,” he explained.

“How come?”

He let a breath out. “Lotsa reasons. I got a job that was far away and hadta move to do it.”

She looked like she didn't really understand. “Oh.”

“I'm not gonna get to stay here, you know that, right punkin?” he asked her, as much as it hurt to say. “I hafta go back to where I live now in a coupla days.”

She furrowed her brow and he almost laughed. She looked just like her father and Aunt Junie when she did that. “Nuh uh.”

“I do. My job only lets me be gone for so long,” he said. “I'm a teacher, did you know that?”

She shook her head.

“Yeah. And I got kids in my class who need to learn how to read and spell and all that. You understand?” He fudged his story just a little, but figured she talked so little it was okay.

She nodded grudgingly and he dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I'm not goin’ back on my promise, now. I'm still gonna help you as much as I can.”

She nodded and looked like she was about to cry.

“Hey, hey, what's wrong?” he asked gently, taking her hands.

“I don't want you to go,” she said tearfully.

His heart broke. He longed to tell her right then and there that she was going with him, but he couldn't. Not ‘til it was sure.

“I don't know what to tell you, darlin’.”

She wiped at her eyes and sniffled. “Can I go with you?”

He froze.

“ _El, don't,_ ” Hardison warned in his ear.

“Do you want to?” Eliot asked. Rosie nodded. “You sure?” She nodded harder.

He had a brief flash of what it would be like: packing her lunch in the morning, struggling to braid her unruly hair, calling in sick when she had the flu, teaching her how to cook, Parker tutoring her in math, dressing up in Halloween costumes and going door to door with a tiny princess--

“ _Don’t make a promise you can’t keep_ ,” Parker hissed, and her tone cut through his imagining.

He took a deep breath before he let himself speak.

“We’ll see,” he said noncommittally. Still, he wanted to do give her _something_ in the meantime to keep her safe.

“Do you know how to use the phone, sweetheart?” he asked, and she nodded.

He fumbled for a second in his pockets before coming up with a business card for an old alias. He couldn’t find a pen, so he looked around until he saw that he was within arm’s reach of a box of crayons. He flipped the card over and wrote down a phone number in purple crayon and then circled it a couple times for good measure.

“Okay,” he said, handing her the card. “Can you read these numbers?”

She read them back to him, slowly and haltingly.

“That’s great, hon. That’s my phone number. I want you to keep that someplace safe, someplace secret. Can you think of a place?”

She thought. “My backpack?”

He nodded. “That’s a good place. I want you to hide that little card for now, and then when you get back to Aunt Junie’s house I want you to put it in your bag. Got it?”

She nodded, holding the card gingerly between her small fingers and peering at it.

“And if you ever, _ever_ feel scared or like you aren’t safe, I want you to call that number. Okay?”

She looked up at him and solemnly nodded. He smiled, a small wave of relief cooling the heat of his anxiety.

The preacher came in just then, and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, everyone. We’re getting ready to start. Could y’all start making your way to the first two rows on either side of the aisle?” he said, and Eliot stood up.

Laurel June sidled up to him. “Will you sit with me?” she asked, and he nodded. He saw her husband behind her, virtually unchanged since high school, and almost lost himself, but remembered the little girl still clutching one of his hands and the fact that they were in a church, and willed himself to chill the fuck out.

“Rosie, hon, you’re gonna sit with Grandma and Grandpa, okay?” she said, and Rosalia gripped Eliot’s hand tighter with both hands and hid halfway behind him.

Laurel June looked at Eliot, puzzled, and leaned in. “What’s goin’ on?” she asked.

He shrugged as if this had come out of the blue. “She’s takin’ a likin’ to me, I guess.”

His sister looked suspicious for a second, then dropped it and shrugged. “You always were good with kids,” she dismissed.

“I gotta be, I’m a teacher,” he said.

“You don’t mind her sittin’ with you?” Laurel June asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Not many people want to,” he deadpanned.

She looked quietly exasperated as the group started filing out of the room. “You know that’s not true, Danny.”

“Do I?”

The service was relatively short, and the sermon mostly a lesson on making good choices and looking to God for guidance when you felt out of control. Eliot felt incredibly uncomfortable; he hadn’t been to church in earnest in God knows how long, and the whole thing seemed a bit heavy handed and preachy.

He sat between Rosalia and Laurel June, with Marcie on Rosalia’s other side and Hunter on Laurel June’s other side. Rosie sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, and didn’t cry. Marcie wept softly the whole time, as did Laurel June.

Eliot felt numb. All of his emotions about Chase’s death he had gotten out in the first day after finding out, and now all he could do was play the part of the mourner. He’d seen too much death in his life to mourn for long; he would never get anything done if he did. Sure, those emotions would come out in brief, intense bursts in the middle of the night sometimes, but in the daylight he was virtually unaffected. Mostly.

Parker and Hardison were quiet. Eliot thought they’d muted their comms and were whispering between themselves until he heard a soft cough in his ear and realized they’d just been silent.

As the service came to a close Seth and a couple of his cousins stood, as did Eliot. They made their way down to the front and stood around the casket. Eliot hadn’t looked at his brother yet.

He’d seen pictures of Chase recently, on the funeral program and around his father’s house, but seeing him in that casket--his usually unruly hair combed neatly, wearing a suit perhaps for the first time--was like a punch to the solar plexus and Eliot took a slow, ragged breath.

Seth took a deep breath and slowly closed the casket’s lid, and Eliot winced as it made a hollow thud. He hadn’t noticed the church choir standing up or the congregation following suit, nor the preacher’s gentle instruction to turn in their hymnals, but as he and his cousins and brother hoisted the casket up to their shoulders, the church filled with a slow hymn.

It was almost too much.

Eliot forced his breath in and out, rhythmically, evenly, and carefully kept his face solemn. He couldn’t help but glance over at Rosie as they slowly made their way out of the church. She was clutching Laurel June’s hand and her lip was quivering. He tore his gaze away quickly.

As he passed the last few rows in the short aisle he saw Hardison standing with his hands clasped in front of him, and Parker with her arm linked through his. Hardison nodded at him and Eliot closed his eyes briefly and swallowed.

They were there for him. He would be okay. They would all be okay.

Finally, finally, they unshouldered the casket and slid it into the back of the hearse waiting just outside. Eliot walked off by himself for as long as he could before everyone else started filing out of the church, then joined his family in the receiving line. It seemed like ages before it was over, though there had maybe been twenty people there who weren’t family.

When Hardison and Parker came through, Hardison held his handshake longer than usual and leaned in.

“You alright, man?” he asked quietly.

“I really want to punch something,” Eliot hissed.

Hardison nodded like he’d said he was hungry or could really go for a run right now. “So you’re fine, then.” He smirked softly, small enough to look like a regular smile.

“You’re obnoxious. Get outta here,” Eliot said quietly, so it wouldn’t carry.

Parker was next. Staying in character, she clasped both his hands and went up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his forehead, then peered at him.

“You okay?” she asked at a whisper, and Eliot knew she was asking as Parker, not as Erin.

“Gonna be,” he grunted.

She nodded and moved on down, plastering on a fake sympathetic smile as she got back into character.

The family all drove separately to the cemetery; there weren't enough limos in town to truck the whole family there. In the car Parker tried to talk about the plan but Hardison shook his head and the rest of the short drive was in silence.

The graveside service was mercifully brief. Unlike Sophie’s fake funeral years before, no one gave speeches or readings, and only the preacher spoke.

As the preacher recited the familiar words and Chase was lowered into the ground _ashes to ashes and dust to dust_ , Eliot closed his eyes.

He remembered the day Chase was born. Marcie had waited too long to get to the hospital and he was almost born on the side of the highway on the way to the closest hospital. Marcie had been in the delivery room all of fifteen minutes when the doctor had come into the waiting room and announced that it was a boy.

He remembered the day Chase, angry and throwing a fit over Eliot enforcing their parents’ rules, had smacked him hard in the chest because he couldn't reach his face. Eliot had been so close to losing his temper and had yelled back, only for all of his anger to drain out of him instantly when Chase had cowered and backed away a few feet and Eliot had seen him for what he was in that moment: a battered seven-year-old kid who was just as frustrated about his inability to control his temper as Eliot was.

He remembered the last time he’d seen Chase in person, the day he left for basic training. Chase had hugged him wordlessly, anger and hurt and sorrow radiating off him as Eliot said goodbye. It was like he knew Eliot wasn't coming back if he could help it. After hugging him, Chase had run to his room and slammed the door, and Eliot had winced, knowing he’d be in for it later.

He remembered the last time he had talked to Chase. It was seven years ago, when Marie died. Eliot had been in Ontario on a job for Moreau. He’d found out that morning, a call from Seth, and had lied and said he couldn't come to the funeral because he was halfway around the world. Chase had called to demand he show up, his fourteen-year-old voice cracking under the stress of trying not to cry. Eliot, in a rush and in no way in a position where he could be heartbroken, had hung up on him and tried to call back later. Chase had ignored him, and the rest of his calls that week, and eventually Eliot stopped trying. He figured Seth and Chase had formed some kind of pact to never speak to him again.

Eliot’s breath hitched in his throat when he heard the casket hit bottom.

He allowed himself until they got back into the car to not be okay. Then, hands on the steering wheel and eyes closed, measured breaths in and out, he collected himself.

They had work to do.


	4. Watcher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: alcohol and alcoholism, verbal and physical domestic abuse, mentions of pregnancy, violent impulses, references to bullying, mentions of death, homophobic language, mentions of doctors, self-hatred, and general thievery

“We shoulda got a van,” Hardison grumbled as he rearranged his long limbs in the backseat.

It was nighttime now, just after dinner, and he and Eliot were camped out in the rental car in front of Laurel June and Hunter’s next door neighbors’ house. Parker was in Eliot’s sister’s house, unbeknownst to the residents, and was placing a couple of spare cameras and microphones Hardison had brought with him just in case.

“You don’t need a van, this is basic recon,” Eliot said. Hardison stared at him.

“Don’t need--do you _know_ what I keep in Lucille? Huh?” he asked indignantly.

Eliot shrugged. “Computers and nerd crap.”

“Cameras. Microphones. Night _and_ infrared vision,” he listed, counting off on his fingers. “Extra chargers for _all y’all’s_ phones and miscellany. Emergency supplies. Extra comms. First aid kits that only _you_ ever seem to need. All the stuff we need to pass for FBI and police and whatnot. My new and improved EMP blaster. A week’s supply of gummy frogs and cereal. Computers with a permanent satellite internet connection and a local wireless network. That van could go to the _moon_ and still get you good enough wifi to play _World of Warcraft_ with no lag.”

“Like I said. Nerd crap.”

Hardison made a strangled noise and was only interrupted in his attempt to launch himself into the front seat by Parker’s quiet voice over the comms.

“ _Cameras and mics are placed. Coming out through a front window in ten. Am I clear?_ ”

Eliot shoved Hardison firmly back into the backseat and peered out the window at the front lawn, then at the house across the street.

“You’re clear,” he said. “Sprinkler system two yards back from the street and three yards east of the front path, don’t trip.”

“ _Coming out_ ,” she whispered.

When they saw her flitting across the wide front lawn safely, Hardison grumbled again. “Don’t know why I can’t even sit in the passenger seat when it’s just us.”

Parker slid into the passenger seat. “Because I got permanent dibs on shotgun.”

“You weren’t even in the car!”

“I was only gone an hour,” she said, like she had no idea what his problem was.

Hardison finally let it go, mostly because he was busy setting up the feeds.

“Alright,” he said some time later. They’d moved down the street, out of sight of the house altogether, and had parked in the driveway of an abandoned-looking house. Hardison pushed his laptop through the gap in the front seats and balanced it on the console so they could all see. “Looks pretty chill for now. Parker got one cam up in the living room, one in the hallway, and one in the kitchen, and a microphone each in the master bedroom and the spare bedroom where Rosie is staying, right?”

Parker nodded. “The angles on the cameras might be weird. The ducts were no good so I had to find other spots for them where they wouldn’t be seen.”

Hardison flicked between the camera feeds. The angles were indeed strange, but nevertheless usable.

Hunter sat in a recliner in the living room, light from a tv offscreen lighting his face and reflecting off the can of beer in his hand. Eliot shook his head minutely. Never trust a Pabst guy.

Rosie sat on the couch, curled up in the corner, stuffed koala in her lap and fingers worrying at her hair.

In the kitchen, Laurel June stood at the sink washing dishes. Eliot remembered what his aunt had said last night at his father’s house-- _a little one on the way_. His eyes went to her belly and he saw the tiniest hint of a bump and he closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he could go through with this. Having DHS on their case, and her niece taken from her, all while she was pregnant with Hunter’s kid… If Hunter went to jail ( _and he should, that bastard_ ), she’d be left alone to raise it. If Hunter thought she’d sold him out, she _and_ her unborn child would be in danger. Rosie too, if she wasn’t safely out of the way by then.

Abuse cases. They were always tricky, always risky, and always posed the biggest danger towards those already being hurt.

Eliot hit the key that pulled the living room feed back up and he sized up his brother-in-law. Hunter was taller than Eliot by a couple inches, and worked in manual labor, but his muscle was undefined, untrained. He didn’t have the muscle tone of someone who knew how to fight beyond back-alley scrapes and holding a kid four years younger than him facedown in a toilet. The biggest area of concern there was that he’d played baseball in high school and could swing a bat hard enough to give someone a bad concussion or mild case of death.

Even with how little Eliot had been fighting and training lately, with his arthritis and all, and with Hunter’s brute strength and skill with bludgeons, he could easily take Hunter down if it came to that. He had no complicated feelings about the asshole either, beyond concern for his sister’s livelihood, so he presumed himself fully capable of destroying him. Should the need arise, of course.

“What are you thinking?” Parker asked.

“‘Bout how I’d like to teach Hunter a thing or two about messin’ with my family,” he mumbled.

“Anything _else_ on your mind?” Hardison asked, sensing that there was more.

Eliot growled low in his throat. “Laurel June’s pregnant and we’re about to take down her husband.”

Hardison hesitated and then let out a long, low whistle. “Damn.”

“So we need to take that into consideration,” Parker said, and it was too dark to see the wheels in her head turning but Eliot could practically hear them.

“No one in my family has money, Parker. We can’t get her a payout to help her support herself and a kid,” Eliot gritted out.

“Shh! I’m thinking,” she said, holding up a ‘just a minute’ finger.

Eliot sat back and waited, flicking back and forth between the camera feeds nervously. Nothing had changed.

“I have half of a plan,” Parker said after several minutes.

“...Care to share?” Hardison asked when she didn’t elaborate after a long pause.

Parker shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Then what do we do now?” Hardison asked no one in particular.

“We wait,” Eliot said. “We stay and monitor the house until everyone goes to bed, and then we go back to the hotel and take shifts monitoring all night.”

“For how long?” Hardison asked.

“Until we have concrete reason to send a tip to DHS,” Eliot said, and he hated himself for it. They were essentially just waiting for Hunter to hurt his sister or his niece, and couldn’t do much before then. They could call now, and hope the fading bruises on Rosie and Laurel June were enough, but they wanted it to stick. They didn’t want Hunter to have any wiggle room.

“What time do Nate and Sophie get in?” Parker asked Hardison, who took the laptop back for a second and pulled up the flight information.

“Three-ish tomorrow afternoon, Oklahoma time,” he said. “They leave Heathrow at about eight in the morning their time, which is in… six hours.”

Parker groaned and thunked her head against the window behind her. “I hate waiting. It’s so boring.”

Eliot scoffed as Hardison put the laptop back in the middle so they could all see. “What book did you bring for the plane again?”

She shrugged. “The Tikva 9800-T security system manual and supplemental materials for optional pressure sensitive walls,” she said.

“But _this_ is boring?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Somethin’ wrong with you…” Eliot muttered as he rearranged himself in his seat. He slid the seat back a couple inches and Hardison yelped.

“Those were my _knees_!”

“Whoops,” Eliot said with a smirk.

“Bet you did that on purpose. Parker, trade me places,” Hardison said.

Parker refused, and the car was filled with bickering for the next several minutes until Eliot glanced down at the laptop screen and shushed his partners.

“Hey! Cut it out,” he hissed. “Look.”

He pointed at the screen just as Hunter threw aside his empty beer can and launched himself up out of his recliner. They watched in horror as he stomped over to Laurel June, who sat next to Rosie on the couch, and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

“Sound, Hardison,” Parker instructed quietly, and Hardison tapped a few keys.

“ _Are you tellin’ me what to do now?_ ” Hunter yelled.

“ _Honey, please, I just thought you might--_ ” Laurel June cried, placating.

“ _Might what?_ ” Hunter interrupted, pulling her up by her arm and grabbing her by the back of the neck with his other hand. Rosalia had frozen, cowering into the corner of the couch, but when Hunter hauled Laurel June up she bolted out of the room and they heard a door slam.

“ _I thought you might... want to go with me,_ ” Laurel June sputtered, resisting but not quite fighting back against her husband.

“ _Go with you to the_ lady _doctor?_ ” Hunter sneered. “ _No way in hell. Do I look like a lady?_ ”

“ _No! No of course not, baby, please! Ow!_ ”

“ _You even know how much I got on my plate? I’m workin’ two jobs to support you and that idiot niece of yours, and you want me to go with you to the doctor, too? You want someone to go with you, you ask your momma or that queer you call your brother_.”

Eliot felt like he was two seconds away from getting out of the car, blowing their cover, and killing Hunter with his bare hands. He didn’t know whether ‘that queer you call your brother’ was referring to him or Seth (the latter had been bullied and called gay his whole life, mostly by Hunter), but it didn’t really matter who he was talking about. It made his blood boil regardless.

He remembered that he’d given Rosalia his phone number earlier that day and he got out his phone just in case she called. His hands were shaking bad and he clasped them together tightly around the phone.

“ _I’m just… Tomorrow I find out if it’s a boy or a girl and I thought you’d want to be there,”_ Laurel June said quietly, and Hunter shoved her backwards. She toppled onto the sofa and there was a _thud_ as something hit the wall, and with a start Eliot realized it was her head. He watched, breath frozen in his throat, to make sure she wasn’t badly hurt. She rubbed at her head but didn’t look like she had a concussion--her eyes were clear and focused--and Eliot thanked a god he didn’t believe in that it wasn’t worse.

“ _I don’t give a shit,"_  Hunter yelled before stalking away, leaving Laurel June curling up on the sofa alone, shaking and trying not to cry. Hardison flicked between the camera feeds and they watched as Hunter went into the kitchen, got a beer out of the refrigerator, then went into the master bedroom and slammed the door, hurling insults over his shoulder the whole time.

None of the people in the car moved. Eliot had gone numb at some point.

He glanced at Parker and saw her sitting stiffly, eyes wide in quiet panic. He heard Hardison let out a shaky breath.

“I think we have enough to call DHS,” Hardison whispered.

Finally Eliot could move. He reached out a shaking hand to Parker, whose eyes drifted blankly towards it and away again. She was breathing hard.

All at once she opened the car door and darted out into the chilly night.

Hardison cursed under his breath and clambered out. “Stay here, I got her,” he called to Eliot over his shoulder. Eliot was grateful; he didn’t think he could move quickly enough to catch Parker at her fastest, even when he was in good spirits, well-rested, and focused.

Their comms were still on and he heard running footsteps filtering through, alongside Hardison’s labored breathing.

Eliot clicked back to the living room feed and saw Laurel June slowly getting to her feet. He followed her with the cameras into the hall, where she knocked gently on the door Rosalia had evidently hidden behind.

“ _Sweetheart, it’s just me, it’s okay,_ ” Laurel June said quietly, and after a pause Rosie opened the door a crack. The angle was bad and Eliot couldn’t see into the bedroom.

“ _C_ _an I come in? We can lock the door,_ ” he heard, and the door opened wider and his sister slipped through.

Eliot hit a few keys and pulled up the audio feed inside the bedroom once the door was closed.

He heard a quiet sob.

“ _Oh honey, it’s alright_ ,” Laurel June cooed. “ _He just got upset, it’s okay_. _C’mere._ ”

Eliot couldn’t listen anymore. His finger hovered over the mute button, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually click it. What if Hunter started back up again?

He balled his fists in his lap and felt useless. He couldn’t save his niece, he couldn’t save his sister, he couldn’t protect his team. What good was he if he couldn’t protect his family?

“ _El, I lost her_ ,” Hardison said over the comms, and Eliot closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. He rubbed at his face and tried to think.

With Rosalia’s door locked tight, they’d be safe, at least for as long as it took Hunter to realize they were hiding in there together and figure out how to get in. Eliot actually found himself hoping Hunter would drink himself to sleep and leave them alone for the rest of the night.

And as for Parker… She was in an unfamiliar neighborhood in an unfamiliar town. She didn’t have a car, but that wouldn’t exactly stop her if she was determined. One of her first jobs had been as a car thief, after all.

But this, these freak-outs she had, they were always brief, and she’d never gone and done something stupid during one. Most of the time she just needed to be alone, hang from some rafters by herself until she could sort through whatever was in her head. And she always came back.

Eliot tapped a couple keys on the laptop like Hardison had taught him, limiting their communication to just between the two of them.

“Just leave her alone. She’ll be alright,” he said.

“ _What if she steals a car? You gonna explain to the police yourself?_ ”

“I don’t think she will, but if she does, it’d probably be to go back to the hotel. And we’d make her take it back in the morning before the owners noticed. Come on back to the car,” he instructed.

He heard Hardison sigh. “ _Fine, but if she steals a tank or somethin’ from the military base outside of town I’m blamin’ you. I’m blamin’ you._ ”

A minute later Hardison slid into the passenger seat. Eliot unmuted their comms and checked to make sure Parker’s was still on.

“Parker, we’re gonna hang here probably another hour if you wanna come back with us. Rosie and Junie are safe, they locked themselves in the spare bedroom and I’m keepin’ an eye on them. If you come back we ain’t gonna make you talk,” Eliot said. “We just wantcha to know that we got your back, always.”

“Yeah, we love you,” Hardison added.

“You don’t gotta answer or anything. Just maybe tell us if you’re going back to Portland or somethin’,” Eliot said.

With that, Eliot muted their comms again, leaving Parker’s still broadcasting to theirs in case she needed them.

“They’re locked in?” Hardison asked, taking the computer back into his lap.

Eliot nodded and Hardison pulled up the feed again.

“ _\--almost bedtime. Do you want me to stay?_ ” they heard Laurel June ask. Eliot could tell she was hoping Rosalia would say yes.

There was a pause. “ _It’s okay, honey, I’ll stay_.”

Eliot let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. If they stayed locked in all night they should be safe.

“Good, good,” Hardison murmured, almost to himself.

Eliot settled in again, mostly recovered from the panic that had set in while Hunter was screaming. Something about it all had pulled him back to his childhood hearing his father smacking around him and his siblings.

Hardison stretched out his long legs as much as the seat would allow. “Can I ask you a question, El?”

“Just did,” Eliot pointed out.

“No one likes it when you do that,” Hardison said.

“Fine, ask me.”

“You really gonna try to keep Rosie?” Hardison asked, his voice gone soft.

Eliot thought for a moment, long enough to fully reconsider and decide all over again. “Yeah,” he said, absolutely certain this time.

“So, what, you gonna be like her dad or somethin’?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he said with a shrug.

Hardison smiled. “No ‘fense, man, but you never struck me as a dad kinda person.”

Eliot usually would have laughed and brushed it off, but something about the night pressing in on the car from all angles, Hardison’s sincere tone, and the gentle murmurings of his sister over the tinny laptop speakers made him want to tell the truth, to be open for once in his life, to bare all.

“I’ve wanted to be a dad for a long time,” he revealed. “You ‘member the toy job? When I was the dad blogger?”

Hardison hummed an affirmative.

“All that stuff I said, about bein’ open an’ honest with my son, about teachin’ him he could always come to me with his problems… All that was real. It’s stuff I plan to do when I got kids of my own.”

Hardison turned sideways in his seat so his back was to the door and crossed his legs.

“I’ve been ready for a couple years, I think. Just a matter of, you know, gettin’ a kid. Never met anyone I’d want to settle down with, and adoption is such a complicated system,” Eliot continued.

“You’d really adopt a kid on your own?” Hardison asked.

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to do, man, haven’t you been payin’ attention?” Eliot asked, letting out a little huff of a laugh. “‘Sides, I’m not really on my own. I got you and Parker, and I bet Nate and Sophie would be great, too.”

Hardison nodded. “True, true.”

Eliot turned the tables on him. “You really gonna try to marry Parker?”

Hardison shrugged. “Maybe. If she wants to. Don't know when I'm gonna ask.”

Eliot nodded and didn’t press further.

They were quiet for a little while, Eliot thinking about the future, as scary as it was, and occasionally tuning in to the audio feeds from his sister’s house.

Suddenly the passenger door opened and Hardison yelped as he almost fell backwards out of the car. Eliot was quick, though, and grabbed his arm before he could go toppling out.

He wouldn’t have actually fallen, though, because Parker was right behind him in the doorway.

“Hey darlin’,” Eliot said, electing to keep things casual and let Parker talk if and when she wanted.

Parker poked Hardison’s shoulder until he looked up at her, still trying to keep his balance inside the car.

“I get shotgun,” she reminded him, and he got out clumsily without complaint and crammed himself into the backseat.

She was shivering, and Eliot gathered that she’d stayed outside in the bracing chill for the last half hour. He turned the car on and cranked the heat up.

“Looks like things are calmed down for the most part here,” Eliot said. “We ready to go back to the hotel?”

Parker nodded.

“Give me a second… Yeah, good to go,” Hardison agreed after typing for a few moments. “Just had to double check my little hotspot would keep me connected to the feeds all the way to OKC.”

“Mute it on the way back,” Eliot said.

“I’ll just listen with my headphones.”

“I figured you’d take the first shift monitoring, from now to maybe one, then Parker from one to five, and I’ll take five to nine or whenever y’all get up,” Eliot said. “Sound good?”

Parker nodded.

“Works for me,” Hardison agreed.

“And Parker,” Eliot began as he started backing out of the abandoned driveway, “if it’s alright with you, I’m gonna have you call DHS in the morning.”

“Why me?” she asked nervously.

“Because if me or Hardison calls they’ll ask why we didn’t go over and try to stop it ourselves, or at least they’d think it to themselves,” he explained.

“I can write you a script, if it helps,” Hardison offered.

Parker leaned back onto the headrest and hesitated. “Fine.”

Eliot started to put his hand on her knee, then thought better of it and patted the console between them instead. “Thank you,” he murmured.

To his surprise, she laid a cold hand on top of his, gently and just for a couple seconds.

The drive back to the hotel was calm. Hardison put his headphones on and Eliot turned on the radio, searching for a few minutes until he found the country station he had listened to growing up. A lot of the songs from back then were still being played, and he sang along softly.

“I like it when you sing,” Parker said in between songs.

Eliot smiled, a little taken aback. “Thank you.”

“I don’t like country music, though,” she elaborated, and the smile dropped off Eliot’s face.

He grumbled to himself, and then when the next song came on and he knew it, he sang along a little louder.

Back at the hotel he and Parker changed into their pajamas and crawled into bed. It was still a little early, but Parker could sleep whenever and wherever she wanted, and Eliot’s bedtime was roughly twenty minutes after he took his sleeping pill, so they both fell asleep relatively quickly, leaving Hardison monitoring the feeds.

Eliot didn’t wake up when Hardison woke Parker up at one, but when she tapped him on the cheek later, Hardison was snoring softly, halfway on top of him, and the sky outside their window was lightening ever so slightly at the horizon.

He rolled out of bed, not particularly worried about waking Hardison up, and stretched, his joints popping with satisfying clicks. Parker stood in front of him, watching him with a completely neutral expression, her hoodie strings in her mouth.

“Anything interesting?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged. “Laurel June talks in her sleep,” she said, her words garbled a little by the ties between her teeth.

“Still?” he asked, mostly to himself. He shook his head with a little smile. “Anything else?”

She shook her head.

“Hardison write up a script?”

She nodded.

“You look over it?”

“Yup. I’m not calling right now,” she said quickly, then pushed past Eliot and took his spot on the bed and pulled one of Hardison’s arms around her.

“Fine. ‘Night.” Eliot was halfway out of the bedroom when he heard Parker scoff quietly.

“You mean ‘morning’?” she asked, her voice already sounding sleepy.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes as he left.

He sat on the couch and pulled the laptop close, took a deep breath, and put the headphones on.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know,” Parker said, in a truly impressive Southern accent Eliot had never heard her use before, “my husband is out of town and I was too scared to go check on everyone.”

“ _Did you call the police, ma’am?_ ” the woman on the other side of the DHS hotline asked, her voice carrying through the suite’s sitting room from the speakerphone.

“No, I…” Parker let out a little nervous laugh that hadn’t been in the script Hardison had written, “this is silly, but my cell phone died and I couldn’t very well go to my neighbor’s house to borrow theirs. I’m sorry, I should’ve called earlier. This just happens so often I figured one of the other neighbors had called.”

“ _That’s alright, ma’am. Can you tell me your neighbors’ names again, please?_ ”

“Laurel June and Hunter Classen,” Parker said, reading off the tv screen Hardison had hooked up to his computer.

There was a pause and a faint tapping sound.

“ _Do they have any children?_ ”

Parker looked to Eliot with a slightly panicked expression and he shook his head.

“No,” she said into the phone.

“ _Ma’am, you’ll need to call the police, this hotline is for suspected child abuse and neglect,_ ” the woman on the other side said, sounding a little exasperated.

Hardison highlighted the part of the script she should read next on the flatscreen.

“Oh, no, I should’ve said that earlier. They’re takin’ care of their niece, Rosie. Her dad just died and she’s stayin’ with them for now. I think they’re her godparents. I think she was in the house last night, I can’t imagine where she’d’ve gone otherwise,” Parker said, glancing at the script a few times but closing her eyes in between to concentrate on her voice.

There was a pause on the other end. “ _D_ _o you know the child’s full name?_ ”

“I only met her once, they called her Rosie, so Rose, I guess,” Parker ad libbed. “She’s a little thing, maybe four or five years old. Real sweet.”

“ _Have you ever witnessed her being abused?_ ”

Parker floundered. Hardison typed quickly and Parker read off the screen as he did.

“I never saw it but when I met her she had bruises on her arms and then the last couple nights Hunter’s been yellin’ a lot more than usual,” she read. “She’s real skinny, too, like she doesn’t get enough to eat.”

“ _Y_ _ou said they’re your neighbors?_ ”

“Yes,” Parker replied.

“ _Can I get your name and contact information?_ ”

Eliot shook his head and Hardison scrolled to the part of his script that specifically addressed that question.

“I-I don’t really feel comfortable. Laurel June and me, we’re friends, and I’ve known Hunter for a long time. Is there a way I can stay anonymous?” Parker asked, and Eliot gave her a thumbs up. She smiled nervously.

“ _Yes, you can stay anonymous, though your name would be kept confidential if you gave it,_ ” the hotline operator assured her.

“I think I’d rather not.”

“ _That’s okay. Can you give me the address one more time to make sure I’ve got it right?_ ”

Parker relayed the address and the operator made to hang up, but Hardison silently held up a hand and Parker cut her off.

“Oh, um, just one more thing. Could you not send the local police? A couple of ‘em are over all the time, I think Hunter is friends with the chief.”

Hardison nodded.

“ _I can pass that along,_ ” the operator said, starting to sound bored.

“Thank you so much,” Parker said, her accent slipping a little, and Eliot looked at her. She was biting her lip and looked worried. If he didn’t know her so well he’d think she was faking it, but this was not her fake concern expression she pulled while grifting. This was the one she didn’t know she made, the one that came out when she, Parker, was actually worried.

“ _No problem. Thank you for calling_ ,” the operator said, and hung up.

Parker let out a breath and closed her eyes for a moment, then the worried expression was gone and she looked up at Eliot and Hardison expectantly.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “Let’s get breakfast.”


	5. Breather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: mentions of death, mentions of plane crashes, mentions of child abuse, references to domestic abuse, a brief mention of snakes and spiders, discussions of pregnancy, mention of mild injury, reference to abusers controlling their victim's life & finances,

The morning and early afternoon were spent in preparation for the job, both at their hotel and in a nearby bakery that served overpriced, but surprisingly delicious, coffees and pastries.

In the middle of discussing the contingency plans (and contingency plans for the contingency plans), Eliot’s phone rang.

Parker ignored the ringtone. “No, if we bring in Sophie _here_ ,” she said, pointing at the timeline on the bathroom mirror with a stack of four markers stuck together, “we can move _this_ to _here_ for Plan M.”

“Doesn’t Hardison always die in Plan M?” Hardison asked worriedly, and Parker rolled her eyes as Eliot dug his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey, shut it,” Eliot said, waving at Parker with one hand as he put the phone to his ear with the other. “Hello?”

“ _Danny, hon, it’s Marcie._ ”

Eliot gritted his teeth.

“Marcie, hey. Uh. How’d you get this number?” he asked.

“ _Are you busy tonight?_ ” Marcie asked, ignoring Eliot’s question. He made a mental note to have Hardison change his number as soon as they were back in Portland.

“Why?” he asked cautiously. Hardison frowned at him, silently asking for more information, and Eliot shook his head.

“ _Waylon and me were just thinkin’, you been here for a coupla days already and you’re probably headed back soon, and we wanted to have you over for dinner ‘fore you left._ ” She left little room for Eliot to outright say no, so he settled for a stall.

“Tonight’s no good,” he said. “I’m meetin’ up with some buddies from high school and gettin’ a beer with ‘em, and it’s gotta be early, around dinner time, ‘cuz one of ‘em has kids to get home to.”

“ _Well, shoot. Just make sure you set aside a night ‘fore you go back to have dinner with lil ole us,_ ” Marcie said, sounding like she wasn’t too upset.

“Sure thing,” Eliot said, and mentally kicked himself for it. Still, that didn’t mean he had to actually follow through. It would be easy enough to fake an emergency in Portland.

“ _Which one of your friends is it with the kids? Hank?_ ” Marcie pried, her gossiping tone slipping back into her voice.

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Don’t think you knew him. Ben Wyatt?” he lied, hoping Marcie didn’t watch _Parks and Recreation_. “He moved to the city after graduation.”

“ _Mmmm, no, I don’t remember him. How many kids?_ ”

Parker hopped up to sit on the bathroom counter and crossed her arms impatiently. Eliot shrugged apologetically.

“Two, I think. Listen, Marcie, I gotta--”

“ _When’re you gonna give me grandbabies, Danny, huh? I’m gettin’ old here!_ ” Marcie interrupted him.

Eliot gritted his teeth. _I’m trying,_ he wanted to say.

“Maybe someday. Listen, I gotta go,” he said more forcefully.

“ _Oh, fine, Danny. Come on over sometime, though. We miss you._ ”

“Sure,” Eliot said noncommittally.

“ _O_ _kay hon, take care of yourself. Bye bye._ ”

Eliot hung up and stuffed his phone into his pocket. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What she want?” Hardison asked.

“Dinner. And grandbabies.”

Hardison let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

He raised his eyebrows, mouth curling into a grimace, and nodded. “That’s my stepmother for ya.”

Parker cleared her throat.

“Go ahead, Park. I’m done,” Eliot said.

Parker blinked. “I forgot what I was saying.”

“Plan M,” Hardison reminded her. She snapped her fingers and hopped off the counter.

“Right. Plan M. The one where Hardison dies. So if Sophie comes in _here_ and you and Nate are already in position _here_ \--”

 

* * *

 

“Why’s it called the Will Rogers World Airport?” Parker asked, squinting up at the sign above the screens displaying arrival times.

It was half past three that afternoon, and they waited at the arrivals gate. Eliot and Hardison sat on a wide bench with a clear view of the revolving doors that Nate and Sophie would eventually walk through, and Parker sat on the back of the bench behind Hardison, her knees poking into his back.

“It’s named after Will Rogers and I guess it flies all around the world and for some reason they didn’t want to call it the Will Rogers International Airport,” Eliot explained, not quite sure why Parker couldn’t figure that out herself.

His explanation was met with a blank stare. “Who’s Will Rogers?” she asked.

“Seriously?” Eliot asked. She was evidently serious. “Will Rogers? Cowboy, comedian, writer? ‘I never met a man I didn’t like’?”

Parker just stared at him and slowly shook her head. “Hmmmm…. Nope.”

Eliot looked exasperatedly at Hardison. “What about you?”

“Never heard of him before in my life,” Hardison replied.

Eliot frowned and shook his head. “The hell? I could tell you this guy’s entire frickin’ life story, man. Every kid in the Tulsa area goes to the Will Rogers Museum and Birthplace in Claremore at least once in elementary school, alright, and so did I, and I went to school a hundred miles away!”

Hardison and Parker watched him with blank looks on their faces, then Parker leaned forward a little.

“Are all Oklahomans like this?” she asked Hardison quietly, her eyes never leaving Eliot.

Eliot growled in frustration and clenched his fists.

People sporting bags on wheels and under their eyes began trickling through the revolving door, and Parker practically leapt over Hardison to flit closer to the doors. She bounced on the balls of her feet with her eyes on the door while Eliot and Hardison stood and joined her.

They heard Nate and Sophie before they could see them. They were bickering back and forth and the tone carried, but their words were muffled by the excited noises of the people around them greeting their loved ones.

When they came into view Parker dashed forward and launched herself at Nate, who stopped bickering mid-sentence as Parker hugged him around the middle.

“Whoa! Hey!” he exclaimed, then frowned down at her. “Parker, that you?”

She nodded with her face pressed to his shoulder.

“You okay?” he asked, patting her shoulder awkwardly.

“You were gone for so long,” she mumbled as Eliot and Hardison joined them.

“Hello,” Sophie said, hugging each of them gently.

“Are you alright?” she murmured to Eliot, and he nodded.

Hardison smiled at her and took her bag as Nate pried Parker off of him.

“How were your flights?” Hardison asked as they began making their way to the baggage claim.

“Oh, awful,” Sophie complained. “Moneybags here decided to save money and got business class seating instead of business plus on the transatlantic flight. Eight hours sitting upright when we could have been lounging in actual beds.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows at Nate, who shook his head. “It would have been almost five thousand dollars more,” he explained.

“Oh you’re right, we _never_ could have afforded that,” Sophie said sarcastically. “Not like we’ve run five jobs in the last four weeks.”

“You ran jobs without us?” Parker asked, sounding hurt.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” Nate said defensively, holding up his hands.

Sophie smiled sheepishly. “Old habits die hard,” she said.

Eliot frowned at the banner over the baggage claim carousel they waited at.

“Do y’all know who Will Rogers is?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” Sophie said, looking around for clues. “The namesake of the airport, I assume.”

“Nate?” Eliot asked, raising his eyebrows.

Nate frowned and nodded. “Yeah, he was the cowboy in the twenties and thirties, right?”

Eliot gestured at him, looking at Parker and Hardison. “See?”

Nate quirked an eyebrow at Hardison, who shrugged. “He got real weird when we didn’t know who Will Rogers is.”

“Did not,” Eliot grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Didn’t, uh, didn’t Will Rogers die in a plane crash?” Nate asked.

Eliot nodded and the others’ eyes widened, except Nate’s.

“And they named an _airport_ after him?” Sophie asked, her voice pitching up a little.

Eliot smirked. “Yeah, the crash killed him and his best friend Wiley Post, who was the pilot. The other airport in town is the Wiley Post Airport.”

Hardison threw up his hands. “The hell is wrong with this state?” he muttered, evidently asking God for the answer.

Nate cleared his throat. “Okay.” He paused as if trying to remember something. “We’re looking for two black rolling bags with green luggage belt things, a blue duffel bag, and three big tan Chanel bags.”

 

* * *

 

“So, what’s your plan if we pull this thing off?” Nate asked, absentmindedly flicking through the sports channels in the Presidential Suite.

“What do you mean?”

Nate gestured vaguely with the remote, eyes never leaving the screen. “You know, like, ah, would you take Rosalia back to Portland, would you move here? Would you stay in the crew? What?”

Eliot hadn’t expected him to bring up logistical questions this early, and frankly he didn’t have the answers to some of them.

“I definitely wouldn’t be moving here, that’s for sure,” he said, then found that the other answers fell into place as he spoke the first. “I’d probably take her back to Portland, yeah. And I think I’d stay.”

Nate nodded. “Would you get a new house?”

Eliot blinked. He’d have to, wouldn’t he? His little country house had only one bedroom, and not much of anything he could convert into a second.

“I guess so,” he said, starting to get nervous.

“Take jobs with regular hours close to Portland or get a nanny?”

Eliot growled and shoved off the couch. His hands itched to punch something to work off this anxious energy. “Enough, I get it. I’m not prepared for this.” He made to storm off.

“Whoa, hey,” Nate said, finally looking away from the tv. “Calm down. You don’t have to know all this right now.”

Eliot stopped at the door, his hand on the deadbolt.

“Listen, we’re gonna help you out,” Nate said behind him. “I was just wondering how much thinking you’d already done about this stuff.”

Eliot took a deep breath and went back, putting his head in his hands. He’d been avoiding thinking about this, about whether he was _actually, realistically_ ready to be a father.

“Am I even cut out for this, Nate?” he whispered.

He felt a solid hand on his shoulder. “Of course. Know how I know?” Nate asked.

He shook his head.

“Because you asked that question.”

Eliot considered his words and felt some of his nervousness die down. He looked up at Nate, who was smiling reassuringly, and cracked a tiny smile in response.

“Thanks, Dad,” he whispered.

Then the moment was gone. Nate rolled his eyes and went back to the tv, but still wore a contented smile.

 

* * *

 

“ _Hello?_ ” Cody asked sleepily. Eliot grimaced. He’d forgotten to factor in the different time zones between here and Portland. It was early in Oklahoma City, closer to seven in the morning than eight, meaning it wasn’t even six in Portland. He scrubbed a hand over his tired face.

“Cody, hey,” he said anyway. “Sorry to call so early.”

His farmhand and housesitter cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice was clearer. “ _It’s no problem, Mr. Spencer, I need to be getting up anyway._ ”

“Nah, you don’t have to get up on my account, I just wanted to update you,” Eliot said. “It’ll be a few days yet before I get back to Portland; some unexpected family issues are keeping me here.”

“ _That sucks, Mr. Spencer. Anything I can help with?_ ”

Eliot smiled. Cody was a good kid. “I just need you to watch the house and animals until I get back, alright? I can pay you time and a half since it’s unexpected.”

Cody let out a breath. “ _Damn, alright. I may have to move some stuff around, but I can make it work._ ”

“Yeah, and do me a favor? Well, two favors.”

“ _What do you need?_ ”

Eliot grinned. “One, I want you to check the garden for any ripe peppers, tomatoes, yellow squash, and zucchinis, and practice making ratatouille if you get enough. Send me a picture when you’re done. Might be a little late in the season, so you could do somethin' with apples and surprise me. And two, I don’t want you missing any school while I’m gone. You hear me?”

There was a small laugh on the other end. “ _I hear you, Mr. Spencer."_

“You’re a good kid, Cody,” Eliot said.

“ _Thanks._ ”

Eliot went to hang up, but decided to let Cody in the loop. “I’m uh. Possibly getting custody of my niece. She’s five. An’ I might be moving.”

Cody paused. “ _Damn. Where would you be moving?_ ” He sounded nervous.

“Closer to the city, maybe into the city proper. Not too far, though. I’d still need your help sometimes if you’d be up for it,” Eliot offered. He added in the last part not because it was true, but because he wanted to let Cody know he wasn’t giving up on him. Cody had come from an abusive family and was trying to make it on his own, and Eliot was mentoring him and giving him work. He’d wished he’d had the same setup himself when he was 17. Maybe then he’d have turned out okay.

“ _That’s pretty cool, Mr. Spencer._ ”

Eliot smiled. “Yeah, I guess. Go get ready for school, kid.”

 _“Sure thing._ ”

“I’ll probably be back Saturday. Don’t let my house burn down,” he joked.

“ _Aw, man, you never let me have any fun,_ ” Cody joked back.

 

* * *

 

Eliot sat stiffly on the sofa in the suite’s living room, his cell phone in hand and thumb hovering over the icon of a phone next to Laurel June’s number. He bit his lip, his mind racing.

The Classens had been visited by local police while they had been at the airport the day before. When they got back to the hotel Hardison had watched the footage while Eliot and Parker briefed Nate and Sophie, and reported back that the cops had asked only a few questions before leaving. There had been an incident report filed in the police system, with vague descriptions of injuries visible on Rosalia and Laurel June. Nothing had been done about it, though, and that night Hunter had gotten up in both their faces, screaming and at one point grabbing Laurel June by the hair and yanking her to the ground.

Eliot had been up all night anxiously watching the streams after things quieted down, until Hardison woke up and made him go to bed. Hardison had taken his place monitoring, but Eliot hadn’t been able to sleep. They needed to get going, and soon. 

Hardison looked up from his laptop across the room. “You gonna make the call?”

Eliot blinked, snapping out of his own thoughts. “Yeah, I’m gonna make the call, hold on,” he growled, then slumped back into the couch, going from one posture extreme to the other.

“She’s home?” Eliot asked.

“Yep, just her and Rosalia,” Hardison confirmed. “Hunter went to the bank.”

Eliot sighed and hit the call button before he could talk himself out of it.

After three rings, Laurel June picked up.

“ _Hello?"_ she said.

“Junie, hey,” he greeted.

“ _Danny?_ ” she asked. “ _How’d you get this number? I didn’t give it to you, did I?_ ”

Eliot grimaced. This was a bad idea. “No, I got it from Aunt Beth. Listen, are you free today?”

There was a pause on the other end and the sound of a closing door. “ _Yeah, why?_ ”

“I was just wonderin’ if you and Rosie wanted to go do somethin’ with me an’ Erin. A museum or the zoo or somethin’.” He almost forgot what name Parker was using, but luckily his sister didn’t seem to notice the pause before he remembered.

“ _Yeah, sure. Where’s this comin’ from?_ ”

“You know, I was just… I’m leavin’ in a couple days and we haven’t gotten the chance to catch up. An’ I wanna get to know my niece before I go,” he said, trusting his voice to not carry his lie.

“ _That’s fair, I guess. Hold on, lemme ask Rosie what she wants to do. Which museum were you thinkin’?"_

Eliot bit his lip. He hadn’t expected her to ask for some reason. He tried to remember what museums he’d gone to as a kid. “The Omniplex, maybe?”

Laurel June laughed. “ _They don’t call it that anymore. It’s just the Science Museum now._ ”

Eliot shook his head. “That’s stupid, how you gonna know which science museum you’re talkin’ about?”

“ _That’s what I said when they changed it! Plus ‘the Omniplex’ was such a cool name._ ”

“It was!” Eliot looked up and saw Hardison squinting at him. He frowned back and turned away slightly.

“ _Alright, hold on,_ ” Laurel June said, then her voice got a little farther away. “ _Rosie, hon, come here!”_ There was a pause. “ _Uncle Danny’s on the phone and wants to take us out today. Do you wanna go?_ ” There was another pause, and when she spoke again there was a smile in her voice. “ _Okay, whaddaya think, the zoo or the Science Museum?_ ”

He didn’t hear a response, but Laurel June answered him after a pause. “ _She wants to go to the zoo._ ”

He smiled. “Sounds good. We’ll come pick you up in about an hour?”

 _“We’ll be ready. Thanks, Danny,_ ” Laurel June said, and he grinned wider before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Hardison eyed him from across the room.

“What?” Eliot asked gruffly.

“The hell is an Omniplex?” Hardison asked.

Eliot gestured with his hands. “It’s a fuckin’... I don’t know man, look it up.”

Hardison put his hands up in surrender, then narrowed his eyes in thought. “Your accent is stronger here, did you know?”

Eliot made a face at him, and Hardison waved a hand dismissively, then frowned at his laptop screen and started typing when a chime caught his attention. “Hunter’s getting a call from his boss. He wasn’t scheduled to work today.”

Eliot stood and went to his side. “Can we listen in?”

Hardison pressed a few keys. “Man, who you talkin’ to?”

Eliot smiled a little. “Right. Sorry.”

Hunter picked up. “ _Hey Mark_.”

“ _Hunter, listen. Lonnie’s out sick today--_ ”

“Drop the call,” Eliot said, and Hardison quickly tapped out a short command on the keyboard, and the call dropped out just as Mark began explaining that they were shorthanded on the worksite.

“Done,” Hardison said, and typed a little more. “And I’ll just go ahead and… There. Mark’s going through a tunnel.”

Eliot smiled. “How long’s the tunnel?”

Hardison grinned cheekily. “Oh, miles. He might be in that tunnel all day.”

Eliot nodded. “That’s good. We need Hunter at home today.”

He went to the door to the bedroom and saw Parker lying fully dressed on the bed and napping.

“Parker,” he said quietly, and her eyes opened. She rolled out of bed in one fluid motion and stretched calmly.

“Time to go?” she asked as she stretched her legs like she was about to run a 15k.

“Mmhmm. Make sure you got the engagement ring. Get a jacket, too, it’s gonna be chilly,” he warned. “Goin’ to the zoo.”

Parker closed the distance between them quickly, excitement shining in her eyes. “The _zoo?_ I _love_ the zoo.”

Eliot had to refrain from laughing at her expression. “I know.”

An hour and a half later they walked through the front gates of the zoo, Parker holding Eliot’s hand to preserve their cover, Laurel June on Eliot’s other side, and Rosalia walking ahead of all of them, her eager eyes taking in everything.

At the same time, Sophie was knocking on Hunter’s front door.

“ _Good morning, are you Hunter Classen?_ ” Sophie asked with a relatively convincing Midwest accent. Eliot had told her to ditch the Southern here, no one would buy it.

“ _Y_ _eah, who’re you?_ ” Hunter asked, his voice gruff and a little slurred. Eliot smiled darkly. Tipsy at eleven in the morning. Perfect.

“ _Margaret Polk. I’m with Children and Family Services,_ ” Sophie said, her voice giving no hint of a smile. “ _Can I come in, Mr. Classen?_ ”

Eliot saw a water fountain to one side of the wide pavilion and faked a nasty cough, stopping in his tracks and putting a hand on his chest for good measure.

“You alright?” Laurel June asked, and Eliot waved her off.

“Just gonna get some water,” he croaked, and walked away. Parker and Laurel June stayed put, Rosie wandering a couple yards ahead.

As Eliot bent over the water fountain he whispered, “Hardison, can you, uh, keep the streams separate?”

“ _Sure can, sorry. We’ll fill you in if we think there’s something you need to know,_ ” Hardison replied from the hotel room, and after a second Sophie’s feed cut out.

Eliot coughed once more to really sell the bit and made his way back to the others.

“Better?” Parker asked, and Eliot nodded.

“Rosie, hon, come look at this map,” Laurel June called, and Rosalia lingered at the edge of a nearby path looking at some flowers, before dashing back to them, nearly tripping a middle aged couple walking past in her haste. She looked at the map, or rather, tried to, because the bottom edge of it was about at eye level.

“Want me to lift you up, punkin?” Eliot asked, and Rosie nodded. He lifted her up and she studied it intently for half a minute before pointing to a building labeled “Herpetarium” that had a small icon of a snake next to it.

Eliot grimaced. “You sure? That’s where they keep the snakes,” he warned, and Rosie frowned at him and nodded. “You like snakes?”

“Of course she does, _Danny_ , snakes are cool,” Parker said, and Eliot made a face at her as he set Rosie down.

“Somethin’ wrong with you,” he mumbled, shaking his head.

Laurel June poked him in the ribs, grinning evilly. “Whats’a matter, you never get over that dumb fear of snakes you had when you were little?”

Parker raised her eyebrows, and Eliot groaned. He knew that mischievous spark anywhere. “He was scared of snakes?”

Laurel June laughed and grabbed Parker’s hand, linking their arms together and walking away.

“Sure was. And spiders. Hated ‘em.”

Eliot grimaced. Rosie, still standing in front of the map, looked up at him, and he wrestled his expression into a more neutral one.

“Are you really scared of snakes?” she asked quietly.

He deliberated for a second. “A little bit, yeah. Are you?”

She shook her head proudly, then studied him. “I thought boys weren’t scared of nothing.”

Eliot glanced at Laurel June and saw her reach up to rub the back of her head gingerly. He remembered all the times he hadn’t been able to keep his siblings safe, the times he’d woken up in a strange place after being knocked unconscious, the times he’d nearly lost Parker or Hardison.

“Nah,” he said, holding out his hand, and Rosie took it. “Nah, boys get scared, same as girls.”

 

* * *

 

“So what’s Seth’s deal?” Eliot asked Laurel June, his view of her blocked a little by the five year old sitting on his shoulders.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Eliot gestured vaguely. “I mean, last I checked he wasn’t talkin’ to me and the other day at the funeral it was like none of that ever happened.”

Laurel June hesitated briefly. “He’s, uh, been a little… isolated, lately. It’s not really… my place to say. But Mom and Dad haven’t been speaking to him for a while. The funeral was an exception.”

Eliot frowned. He was pretty sure of what Laurel June was getting at, but if she said it wasn’t her place he wasn’t going to ask.

“I see,” he said vaguely, because he thought he did. They passed a gift shop and he glanced at their reflection in the wide plate glass windows. Rosie didn’t seem to be listening to them; her eyes were on Parker, who walked on Eliot’s other side.

As he watched, Rosie reached down and gently touched Parker’s hair, and Parker looked up with a soft smile.

“How’s the weather up there?” she asked, and Rosalia giggled.

“Good,” she replied.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to see the lions?” Parker asked, and Eliot felt Rosie wriggle on his shoulders for a second before she tapped the top of his head. He carefully lifted her down.

Parker held out a hand and Rosie took it, and they walked off together towards the lion enclosure, Parker throwing a wink over her shoulder.

Eliot sighed and wandered over to a bench nearby and sat. Laurel June joined him.

“I like her,” Laurel June said.

Eliot smiled. “Me too.” Sure, he didn’t like Parker the way Laurel June thought he did, but that was okay.

Laurel June was quiet for a moment and then slumped a little and put her head on Eliot’s shoulder. He put his arm around her and squeezed gently.

“Danny, I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” she whispered.

Eliot frowned and pretended he didn’t know everything. “About what?” he asked.

She hesitated, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her hands twitch towards her belly. “I’m pregnant. And me and Hunter can barely support ourselves as it is, and now we got Rosie to think about. What are we gonna do when there’s a baby, too?”

He stilled on purpose, feigning surprise. “You’re pregnant?”

She nodded against his shoulder. “Four and a half months,” she said. “It’s a boy.”

Eliot closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized she was so far along. She was so thin…

Still, he had to be there for her. He put his hand on her knee. “I’m happy for you, Junebug, you’re gonna be a great mom.”

Laurel June grabbed his hand between both of hers. “I don’t think I am,” she whispered.

He clenched his jaw and tried to breathe evenly, willing himself to believe that she would be okay if Hunter was no longer in her life. “I promise you will be,” he murmured when he could make himself sound confident. Nate’s pep talk the night before still rang in his ears and he tried to be as reassuring for his sister as his surrogate father had been for him.

She was quiet for a few minutes, and then she squeezed his hand she still held. “I missed you.”

He smiled and rubbed her arm. “I missed you, too, Junie.”

She flinched and he pulled away, concern knitting his brow.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Laurel June said, looking panicked.

“What? No, you don’t have anything to be sorry f--” Eliot interrupted.

“No, please, I’m sorry,” she interrupted him, looking mortified and pressing a hand to her arm where Eliot had been rubbing, and he understood.

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing to her arm, but he knew what it was.

“What? Nothing,” she said, her face beet red.

“Junie,” he said gently. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s just a bruise, Danny, it’s nothin’.”

He was quiet, internally seething at Hunter for several seconds, then backed down. “Alright.”

She let out a breath and wrapped her arms across her chest. “Thanks.”

He heard Parker’s voice in his ear. “ _On our way back_ ,” she murmured, and Eliot cleared his throat.

“So what all have you been up to since I been gone? Other than gettin’ married, that is,” he amended.

She shrugged, her face still guarded. “Not much. Graduated high school. Started workin’ as a secretary for a while. Then after the wedding I quit and started doin’ just little things for family and friends. You know, babysittin’, cleanin’. Planned a couple little events.”

He frowned. His sister, a housewife? Growing up she’d had big plans--become a photographer and move to New York, become famous, marry a rich doctor, have a few kids. In that order.

“You still doin’ photography?” he asked, watching her face closely. She winced a little and looked away for a split second before she shrugged.

“A little. Not much to take pictures of in Spencer.”

He smirked, trying to lighten the mood before Parker and Rosie returned. “Not even your handsome big brother?”

At that her guarded expression dropped and she rolled her eyes. “You ain’t handsome. You’re an ass.”

He put a hand to his chest, mock offended. “ _Me_? I’ll have you know I’m very handsome.”

Laurel June shook her head. “Nah.”

He saw the top of Parker’s head over a bush, rounding the corner, and called her over as she came into view, Rosie still firmly attached to her hand. “Erin, hon, settle a debate. Aren’t I handsome?”

Parker looked like she was about to start cracking up, so he glared at her. “Uh huh. Super handsome,” she said flatly, rolling her eyes.

Eliot shook his head. “Rude.”

Rosalia let go of Parker and darted over to him, hopping directly into his lap, and he groaned as her skinny knees dug into his thighs. “Hey punkin. You like the lions?”

She pouted and shook her head. Eliot raised his eyebrow at Parker.

“They weren’t out. Back in their cages or something,” she explained.

“Well, shoot,” Eliot said. “I’m sorry. Aunt Erin didn’t even offer to free them?” He winked at Parker, who looked shocked and shook her head in warning.

Rosalia whipped her head around to look at Parker. “You can do that?”

Eliot grinned cheekily at Parker over Rosie’s head. Payback.

She laughed nervously. “No, of course I can’t.”

Eliot decided to throw her a bone. “Nah, I’m just kiddin’, sweetheart. The lions gotta stay in their cages.”

“How come?”

“So they don’t  _eat ya_ ,” he growled, tickling Rosie, and she screeched and laughed. Laurel June joined in, and Parker couldn’t help but chuckle watching them.

Maybe, just maybe, things would turn out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Rogers discussion courtesy of my complete disbelief that non-Oklahomans have no idea who he is like wtf


	6. Rescued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: child abuse, domestic violence, ableist language, homophobic slurs, alcohol and alcoholism, violent impulses, panic attacks, police, brief mention of guns and knives, injury, discussions of pregnancy, brief mention of drugs, mentions of death, mentions of child neglect, and mentions of doctors and hospitals

“I don’t like it.”

Eliot blinked at Sophie. She was fiddling with the tassels on the edge of her blanket uncomfortably.

“What are you talkin’ about?” he asked.

“Running a game on these people. It doesn’t feel right,” she murmured.

“Why not?”

She threw up her hands in exasperation. “They’re your _family_ , Eliot. It’s not like Hunter is some corrupt CEO. He’s a construction worker.”

Eliot scoffed and swung his feet onto the floor from where he had been resting them on the couch. “First off, he ain’t my _family_. My family is you guys, Laurel June, and Rosie. Maybe Seth. Hunter, Marcie, and Waylon? They’re just people hurtin’ my family.”

Sophie frowned and shoved off the other couch and started pacing. “That doesn’t change that we’re running a game on _poor_ people. People we usually help.”

Eliot groaned. “Soph, we’re not bankruptin’ them. We’re not takin’ what little money they got. There’s other ways to make people pay than with money, you should know that.”

She bit her lip and kept pacing. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

Nate came out from behind the wet bar across the room, a tumbler of scotch in hand. “It’s a breach of contract. A breach of the marriage contract. And, well, the unofficial contract you metaphorically sign when you have kids, that you’ll protect them.”

Sophie stopped in her tracks and held up a hand. “Don’t do that, Nate.”

He stared at her blankly. “Don’t do what?”

She threw her hands up again. “The ‘breach of contract’ speech. I _know_ that. _I’m_ the one who always says that.”

He looked at a loss for words and stammered for a second, gesturing vaguely with his glass. “Then what--what’s the problem?”

She sat back down on the couch. “I don’t _know_. It just doesn’t _feel_ right.”

Nate went quiet. He furrowed his brow and slowly went to sit on the arm of the same couch on which Sophie sat with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he agreed after almost a full minute. “Something’s off.”

Eliot scoffed. “Maybe it’s just that you’re not used to a simple con.”

Nate hummed. “I don’t think that’s it. But I _do_ think your plan is too simple. Maybe if we--”

“Hey!” Parker said sharply, poking her head into the room and startling Nate. “Are you the mastermind here?”

He floundered. “Well, I mean--yes, actually.”

Parker narrowed her eyes. “I meant, are you the leader of this crew?”

Nate looked chastised. “I guess not.”

Parker nodded, satisfied. “I’m leading this job.”

Eliot cleared his throat. Wasn’t he the one calling the shots?

Parker sighed almost imperceptibly. “ _Eliot_ is leading this job.”

Eliot nodded.

Nate frowned, conceding. “Fine. That’s fair. But I still think the plan is too simple.”

Eliot made a face at him. “We can’t all be masterminds, Nate. I’m a hitter.”

Nate chuckled and took a sip of his scotch.

Parker shrugged and disappeared back into the bedroom.

“I thought we were getting dinner,” Sophie said to Nate, nodding at the glass in his hand.

He frowned and looked down at his drink, tilting the tumbler back and forth gently and letting the little bit of liquid left roll around the bottom. “Yeah, yeah, you know, it was just a long--”

“A long day, yes, I’m sure pacing around the hotel room and telling me what to say was very strenuous,” Sophie said with a little eyeroll, and Eliot raised his eyebrows and turned firmly back to the game on the television, electing to let them have their spat in peace.

“It was until you muted me,” Nate mumbled.

There was a little scuffle from the other room and then Hardison came in quickly, his laptop open and headphones hurriedly pulled off one of his ears, and Parker hot on his heels.

“Guys, something’s up,” he said, putting the laptop down and pulling his headphones out of the jack. The rest of them scooted closer, Eliot’s heart beating so hard he almost couldn’t hear the quiet sobs coming from the speakers. The video feed of Laurel June’s living room was pulled up, and Hunter stood with his back to the camera, facing the couch and blocking from view whoever was crying.

“ _Quit cryin’, idiot_ ,” Hunter snarled. “ _I barely touched you._ ”

Eliot growled low in his throat and his hands clenched into fists involuntarily. Nate found the remote and turned off the TV, and in the background of the video feed they could hear the same football game playing softly.

“ _Come here_ ,” Hunter said roughly, leaning forward and grabbing whoever it was, then straightening up and turning slightly to stand them in front of the couch next to him, revealing Rosalia crying with her elbow gripped hard in Hunter’s hand. He leaned down with his face inches from hers. A lion plush lay on the couch behind her. “ _You think you been good enough for that new stuffie?_ ”

Eliot closed his eyes. He’d bought her the stuffed lion as they left the zoo, to make up for her missing out on the real ones. Laurel June had objected, saying, “you don’t have to do that, you’re on a teacher’s salary,” but he had ignored her and bought it anyway, thinking it was only about the money.

The sharp crack of a slap and Rosalia crying out made him open his eyes and his heart leap into his throat. Rosalia’s free hand covered her cheek and Eliot saw red.

“ _Huh? Answer me!_ ”

Rosie just cried harder, looking terrified.

“ _Hunter, baby, leave her alone,_ ” Laurel June pleaded from offscreen. Her voice shook.

Hunter rounded on her, keeping hold of Rosie’s elbow and dragging her a few steps. They stayed within the frame, but Laurel June stayed out of sight.

“ _And you, wasting money on the fucking zoo and some useless toys? The hell were you thinking, Junie?_ ”

“ _D-Danny paid for it all, I swear,_ ” she stammered.

“ _Of course. Everything is your brother,_ ” Hunter said mockingly. “ _Nothing is ever your fault. You can’t keep blaming everything on your fuckup brothers. They don’t_ care _about you._ ”

He let that sink in, a sneer on his lips. Laurel June was quiet. Then he yanked Rosalia closer.

“ _I got paid a visit today while you two were out with that queer having mimosas and truffles and massages. You know that? A social worker came. Said there had been reports of suspicious bruising on the two of you."_

Laurel June stammered unintelligibly. Somewhere underneath the rage that threatened to send Eliot into a murderous rampage, a question he hadn’t asked was answered. He was the queer, not Seth.

“ _Now why did I get paid that visit? Huh? You call the police?_ ”

“ _No! I swear,"_ Laurel June pleaded.

“ _You want me to get locked up? You want little Rosalia here to go in the system? Huh? Foster homes? D’you know what happens to little kids in foster homes?”_ Hunter went quiet for a moment, a tiny, wicked smile on his lips as Rosie stared up at him, frozen in fear. “ _An’ if I get locked up, there won’t be anyone to pay for all your shit, and no one to protect you, and no one will care._ ”

Hunter abruptly changed course. His entire body language softened and he let go of Rosalia’s elbow. She ran offscreen, terrified and sobbing, and they heard a door slam. Hunter watched her go and then reached out and pulled Laurel June into the frame and close to him gently. He kissed her softly on the forehead as his arms snaked around her waist. She let him pull her close, her body stiff and trembling.

“ _Hey now, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell_ ,” Hunter said softly, and the camera’s microphone barely picked it up. “ _I’ll protect you, Junie, and I ain’t goin’ anywhere._ ”

Laurel June softened into his embrace and began crying quietly.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” she whimpered.

“ _Just don’t do it again, Junie, and it’ll be okay_ ,” Hunter said soothingly.

Eliot felt sick to his stomach. He looked around at his crew and saw them all in various states of unease: Nate was staring furiously at the screen, gripping his glass with white-knuckled fingers; Sophie was covering her mouth with her hand and had her eyes closed; Hardison had his arms crossed tight over his chest and his mouth hung open just a bit in a disgusted scowl; and Parker was pale, her eyes unfocused and her breathing fast. Eliot’s blood was boiling beneath his skin and his jaw was clenched so tight it ached.

They watched silently as Hunter held Laurel June, and after a minute or so he pulled her gently onto the couch, where he petted her hair and she slumped down onto his lap, the football game still playing faintly in the background.

Eliot’s phone rang, and in the quiet of the hotel room aside from the faint sounds filtering through the laptop speakers, they all flinched except Parker. Eliot’s hands shook, anger turning to dread as he dug his phone out of his pocket, and Hardison jumped quickly into action, typing furiously for a couple seconds.

“It’s their home phone number,” he told Eliot, who accepted the call with trembling fingers and put it on speaker. Hardison muted the laptop as he did.

“Hello?” Eliot said, fighting to keep his voice even so as not to scare Rosie.

The other end of the line was quiet save for a stifled sob and a sniffle.

“Who’s there?” Eliot asked, closing his eyes. He knew it was Rosie but he had to play the part, had to keep up illusions, and it was killing him.

There was a long pause. “ _Uncle Danny?_ ”

“Rosie? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He let a little of his fear leak into his voice. He tried to ignore the others in the room; they were quiet and still, but their nervous energy radiated off them and was distracting.

Rosalia whimpered quietly and sniffled, and the sound was like a knife into his chest. And he would know what that felt like. “ _Uncle Hunter,_ ” she whispered.

“Did he hurt you?” Eliot asked after a pause during which he tried to control his emotions. They wouldn’t get anywhere if he flew off the handle in rage, and Rosie certainly wouldn’t keep trusting him if she saw it.

“ _Uh huh._ ”

Eliot blew out a breath slowly. “Are you safe? Can he get at you?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” she whispered, and she sounded so terrified Eliot almost started crying.

“Alright, punkin, you gotta help me out a little, can you do that?” he asked, reverting to his training in hostage retrieval. It would make everything easier if he could detach his emotions and just be pure intention and strength.

“ _Uh huh._ ”

“Can you tell me where you’re at right now?”

“ _My bedroom_ ,” she whispered.

“Good, good. Is there a lock on the door?”

“ _Yeah_.”

“That’s good, honey. Can you make sure the door is locked?’

She sniffled. “ _Uh huh_.”

“Go do that. Don’t open the door for anybody.”

There was a scuffle and the sound of a push lock engaging.

“We’re gonna think of a password together, alright punkin? And you’re gonna keep that door locked until someone says the password and then you know it’s okay to open it. You understand?”

“ _Uh huh._ ”

“Good. Now, I want you to think of a password. It can be anything as long as you’ll remember it.”

There was a pause. “ _Koala_ ,” she whispered.

“That’s a good password, punkin. You’re doin’ great. Okay, I need you to remember that password and stay in there.”

“ _Okay_ ,” she said. She still sounded scared, but she didn't sound like she was crying anymore.

“Okay, punkin, this next bit might sound a little scary, but it’ll all be okay. I’m gonna call the police and they’re gonna come over. They’ll keep you safe, and I’m on my way too.”

It was quiet on the other end.

“I want you to sit tight and keep the door locked until you hear someone say ‘koala’. Can you do that for me, punkin?” he asked, biting his lip. He’d walked hostages and other people under attack through similar situations countless times, but he’d never been so scared during it.

“ _Uh huh,_ ” Rosalia said.

“That’s good. You’re bein’ so brave, kiddo. I’m proud of you. I gotta go now, but I’ll be there soon. You call me if it gets scary again, okay?”

“ _Okay_ ,” she whispered, sounding panicked.

“Okay, sweetheart. Be brave. Bye-bye.”

“ _Bye_.”

He gritted his teeth and tried to hit the end call button, but couldn’t. He handed the phone to Hardison wordlessly, who hit the button for him.

It was silent for a long moment.

“Alright,” Nate breathed finally. “Let’s get to work.”

They all unfroze and set to work, except for Parker, who remained sitting stock still on the arm of the sofa, her eyes staring off into space. Eliot stood shakily, pulling his earpiece out of his pocket, blowing the lint off, and putting it in. Sophie quickly wiped her eyes and went into the bathroom. Nate slid his glass onto the counter of the wet bar and began swiftly packing a briefcase at the table. Hardison typed something quickly, then moved to help Nate, but stopped when he saw Parker.

He said her name softly. She blinked but otherwise didn’t move. Eliot stopped on his way into the bedroom and joined Hardison in front of her.

He knelt down. “Parker, it’s over. You’re safe.”

Her breath caught in her throat but she didn’t move, didn’t look at either of them.

“I’m gonna hold your hand, is that okay?” Hardison murmured, then reached a hand out. Parker’s hands resting limply on her lap twitched closer to her, and Hardison stopped.

“Okay, that’s fine. Listen, Parker, I’m gonna…” Hardison trailed off, waving a hand vaguely. He looked to Eliot for help, who shrugged helplessly.

“I’ve got her, go do what you need to do,” Sophie said gently, sitting next to Parker and waving the boys off.

“It’s gonna be alright, Park,” Eliot murmured as he left her side.

He went into the bedroom, stuffing his feet into his boots and hurriedly changing into a different shirt. He pulled his hair into a ponytail and sifted through the small stack of passports and driver's licenses he always carried with him on trips until he found the ones for Daniel Gillespie.

He felt sick to his stomach and his hands were clammy. He tried to talk himself through the anxiety so it wouldn’t get in the way and make him behave rashly. The entire experience was new to him, being anxious on behalf of someone else. He’d been in too much danger in his life to feel much that could be called fear when it came to himself. Caution, maybe, but never fear. And sure, he felt some fear when his team was in danger, but that was different, somehow. He knew they could take care of themselves to some extent. But Rosie was _five_ , and small for her age. There wasn’t a lot she could do beyond hide. She needed help. So he tamped down as much of his fear as he could, wiped it from his clammy hands, and let the ghost of it spur him into action.

He went back out and found Parker curled up on the couch, facing the back cushions, wrapped tight in a blanket. Sophie sat on the coffee table, murmuring softly to her. Hardison sat at the table with his laptop and hurriedly spread out a stack of papers in between bursts of typing. Nate was nowhere to be seen. Eliot went to Hardison so as not to disturb Parker as much as possible.

“Where’s Nate? I wanna pull him in as a lawyer,” he said quietly.

Hardison’s hands didn’t still as he spoke. “Went back to his room to change.”

Eliot hesitated, wondering if he should take initiative and look up what he wanted to know on Hardison’s laptop. He reached for it, and Hardison smacked his hand.

“Come on, man, I got a _system_. Don’t mess with it. What do you need?” Hardison asked exasperatedly.

“Is Nate’s comm on?” Eliot asked, his voice coming out more aggressive than he meant it to.

“It is,” Hardison said without even looking at his computer. “There. You got your answer. Go bug him, I got stuff to do.”

Eliot flicked his ear in irritation before walking away and clicking on his earpiece.

“Nate, you hear me?” he asked.

There was moment of complete silence over the line, then he heard the faint buzz of a microphone beginning to pick up ambient sounds.

“ _Yeah, what’s up?_ ”

“I wanna bring you in as the lawyer now, speed up the job,” Eliot said, biting his lip.

“ _I figured. How’s Jimmy Papadokolis work for you?_ ” There was a hint of a smirk in his voice.

Eliot smiled softly. “That’s good. That way if I need to punch you for whatever reason all the feelings will be real.”

“ _I’m hurt. Listen, give me five minutes. You might wanna call the cops while you’re waiting._ ”

“Yeah. Meet back here when you’re done.”

Eliot pulled out his phone and gritted his teeth, steeling himself, before typing a short string of numbers into the keypad. He went into the bedroom to make the call and sat in a plush chair near the big window looking out over Oklahoma City. He heard soft footsteps and turned to see Hardison coming close.

Hardison sat in the other chair and reached out to take Eliot’s free hand. He nodded at Eliot, his eyes kind.

Eliot took a deep breath and hit the call button.

“ _911\. Is this a call for fire, medical, or police services?_ ”

“Police, maybe medical, I don’t know.”

“ _Okay, sir, please describe your emergency._ ”

 

* * *

 

Eliot took a deep breath, hands tight on the steering wheel.

“ _You doing alright?_ ” Nate asked over the comms. Eliot had dropped him at an all-night diner on his way to Laurel June’s house, and would pick him up later.

Eliot eyed the two police cars with their lights on in front of the house and let his anxiety loose just a little, just enough to make this next bit convincing without losing himself.

“Yeah,” he replied to Nate, and he thought it was the truth.

 _"Remember to check the cameras and mics are well-hidden while you’re in there_ ,” Nate reminded him.

“ _I’m monitoring the feeds,_ ” Hardison chimed in from back at the hotel, and it felt like an admonishment, a reminder not to go berserk and straight up murder Hunter while police were there and with a secret camera recording his every move.

“Alright, alright,” he said banging the steering wheel. “I got it. I’m goin’ in.”

He felt his blood boiling just beneath his skin as he got out of the car and walked quickly across the street. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the curtains of the house next door twitch shut.

“ _Three cops, one in the hallway, two in the front room. Officers Sharpe, Bluth, and Young,_ ” Hardison informed him. “ _Local dudes, not a lot of action, but Bluth tends to respond most to calls involving kids._ ”

At the front door he knocked twice, then opened the door. Two police officers standing in the living room just off the small entryway spun around and one put his hand on the gun at his waist. Hunter sat on the couch with his hands clasped tightly on his knees, and his face twisted with rage when he entered. Laurel June stood off to the side, arms crossed, face shiny with tears, being interviewed by one of the cops. Eliot put up his hands and ducked his head a little under the attention.

“Sorry, I just--” he stammered. “I called it in and told my niece I’d be comin’,” he explained.

“Who are you?” the cop standing near Hunter asked, at the same time Laurel June whispered, “Danny?”

“Danny Gillespie. I’m Laurel June’s brother. Half-brother,” he corrected. “Rosie called me.”

“Rosalia?” the other cop asked, the one who had been interviewing Laurel June. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder towards the hallway, where a third cop crouched next to a door and watched him. “The one who locked herself in her bedroom and won’t open the door?”

Eliot stifled a grimace. Local cops. They didn’t know how to do anything. You wouldn’t see this level of casualness in bigger city cops.

“Yeah, I’m the one told her to lock the door, and only I know the password to get her to unlock it,” he said.

The cop talking to Laurel June came closer, and Eliot saw that his name tag said ‘Sharpe’. He was an older guy, in his forties, maybe fifties, pudgy around the middle and balding. He still rested his hand on his gun, and he scrutinized Eliot.

“You armed?” he asked shortly.

Eliot shrugged helplessly. “I got a multitool in my pocket and it’s got a knife on it, but I ain’t intending to use it.”

Sharpe held out his hand, and Eliot carefully dug around in his pocket until he found the pocket knife and handed it over. They didn’t need to know about his extra knife concealed at his ankle.

“Why’d you tell her to lock the door?” Sharpe asked.

 _The hell kind of question…_ “She called me and said she was scared and that Hunter had hit her,” Eliot said, gesturing to his brother-in-law. “I was worried for her, so I tried to get her to feel safe. I did hostage retrieval in the Army, and I’m a teacher now. I know what child abuse looks like.”

“That’s a fuckin’ _lie_ ,” Hunter yelled, having stood under his last sentence. He tried to charge at Eliot, but was blocked by the other cop. “I never _touched_ the kid.”

Eliot looked back at him, rage boiling just beneath the surface and fueling his hard stare, but kept his face in a carefully controlled grimace as the cop grappled with him and shoved him back onto the couch.

“Like _hell_ you didn’t. I bet the bruises on her happened all on their own,” he said sarcastically, hoping his words were as cutting as he meant them to be.

Eliot looked at Laurel June, his gaze softening and then hardening again when he saw fresh bruises blooming on her wrist, and her furtive glance away as she tugged at the sleeve of her sweater.

“But I can’t _prove_ that you did without seein’ her,” Eliot said to Hunter, then looked at Sharpe, who nodded and stepped aside.

As he passed, Eliot leaned in and murmured to Sharpe. “You might wanna look at Laurel June’s arms.”

He gave his sister a sympathetic glance, an almost-smile, as he brushed past the cop and joined the other one near the door. Her name tag said ‘Bluth’.

“Hi,” he greeted her nervously, and she nodded. “How’s she doin’?”

Bluth shrugged. “Hasn’t said a word since I got here. I’m gettin’ worried. She’s cryin’, though, I can hear it.”

Eliot nodded. “Yeah, she don’t talk much. She’ll talk on the phone, though, most of the time.”

Bluth frowned. “Should I call her, then?”

Eliot shook his head. “No need, I know the password.”

He knelt in front of the door. “Rosie, hon? It’s Uncle Danny. You ready to open the door?”

He heard a faint sniffle. “Okay.”

He smiled in encouragement even though there was a door between them. “Okay, good. The password is ‘koala’.”

There was a long pause and finally the lock clicked and the door opened about four inches. Rosalia stood cautiously in the small crack, face red and lip quivering, her stuffed koala clutched to her chest. She didn’t move once the door was open.

“Hi, punkin. How you doin’?” Eliot asked gently. She just trembled and looked at the floor.

“Hi, Rosalia, I’m Officer Bluth. Can you come out so I can get a good look at you?” the cop next to him asked.

Rosie shook her head.

“Why not?” Bluth asked.

“Is it ‘cuz Uncle Hunter is still here?” Eliot asked, and she nodded minutely.

“Would it be better if we came in?” Bluth asked. Rosalia shook her head hard.

“That’s okay, punkin, just give us a second,” Eliot said, and nodded to Bluth, who stood after a hesitation and went down the hallway.

After watching her go, Eliot briefly made eye contact with Laurel June and felt her pain, her shame, her embarrassment, her sense of betrayal. He looked away. Would she ever forgive him?

Bluth rounded the corner and Eliot heard her murmuring to the third cop, whose name he couldn’t remember.

“Son, why don’t you come down to the station,” the third cop said.

“‘Cuz I haven’t done nothin’ wrong,” Hunter snarled. Eliot smiled a little at Hunter’s accidental admission of guilt with the double negative.

“It weren’t a request. Come on. Stand up,” the third cop said, and there was a scuffle and a little bit of grunting, and then the ratcheting sound of handcuffs. Eliot watched down the hall as Hunter was muscled into view and out the front door by the third cop, with Sharpe in tow.

Bluth rejoined them, and Laurel June, looking dazed, crossed into the living room and out of sight.

Eliot looked back at Rosalia. She was still trembling, but she held herself less stiffly, clutched her koala a bit less tightly to her chest.

“He’s gone, honey. Can you come out now? Officer Bluth here wants to look at you,” Eliot said softly.

She slowly opened the door a bit wider and took a step closer to Eliot. He held out a hand and she took it cautiously.

“That’s great, punkin, thank you.”

Eliot studied her in the dim light of the hallway. She had a bunch of small bruises blossoming on her right elbow, about the right shape and placement to be from Hunter’s fingers. Bluth found the light switch for the hallway and turned it on, and in the light Eliot gasped softly. There was a red mark on Rosalia’s face, lines three or four inches long diagonal across her cheek, hints of purple beginning to show under the red.

Eliot gestured to his own cheek when Bluth rejoined them and got a good look at her. “How’d that happen, there, honey?

Rosalia furrowed her little brow and held up a hand, then slowly mimed slapping Eliot’s cheek.

“Who?” Bluth asked. “Who hit you like that?”

“Uncle Hunter,” Rosie whispered.

“Does it hurt?” Eliot asked quietly, and Rosie nodded, her chin quivering.

“I’ll get you an ice pack,” he said, and made to stand, but Bluth took hold of his wrist before he could.

“Not yet, we need to document this before any swelling subsides,” she said.

“Then do it,” he said, his voice coming out harsher than he’d intended, and he collected himself a little before he spoke again. “She’s in pain.”

Bluth studied him, then turned back to his niece.

“Can you give us a minute, sweetheart? I gotta talk to your Uncle Danny.”

“Why don’tcha go sit with Aunt Junie?” he suggested, and she hesitated, her grip tightening on his hand for a second before she nodded and went into the living room.

When she was gone, Bluth turned on her heel and went into the master bedroom, and Eliot took advantage of her turned back to give a once-over of the hallway until he saw a small camera stuck to the top of a picture frame hanging on the wall. He wouldn’t have seen it if he wasn’t looking for it, so he felt satisfied. One camera down, two cameras and two microphones to go.

He hurried after Bluth into the master bedroom, which was simply furnished, and had a handful of empty beer cans strewn about and a bunch of prescription pill bottles on one nightstand. Bluth was studying the bottles with a frown, but when he entered she put them down and came close so she could speak without having to raise her voice.

“I’d like to take Laurel June and Rosalia to the hospital to get checked out,” she said, and Eliot nodded. They had anticipated this. “I wouldn’t usually bother until tomorrow, except that Laurel June’s pregnant and I don’t wanna take any chances there.”

Eliot nodded again. “Can I come?” Bluth hesitated, and Eliot continued. “Rosie trusts me, and that’s not an easy thing for her to do. Her father, my youngest brother, smacked her around and neglected her.”

Bluth considered, then blew a breath out. “Fine. But when she’s interviewed and examined, you can’t be in the room.”

“‘Course,” Eliot said.

Bluth nodded and started to leave the room, but Eliot held out a hand to stop her. “Officer Bluth,” he said quietly, and she turned back to him, eyes narrowed. “I just wanted to tell you--don’t tell anyone this-- I’m filing for custody of Rosalia.”

Bluth squinted at him, studying him intently. “You sure?”

He nodded. “Already starting the process. No one in my family’s been looking out for her. ‘Cept Laurel June, but she can’t protect her against Hunter.”

“ _Tell her about me,_ ” Nate said through the comms, and Eliot almost jumped, forgetting he was listening.

“My lawyer from Portland is gonna get here tonight,” Eliot said.

Bluth frowned. “Portland?”

Eliot nodded. “I live there. I was just in town for the funeral but stayed when I saw how bad Rosie was doin’.”

Bluth looked confused. “What funeral?” Eliot balked. Local police really were useless.

“Rosie’s dad. He died last week. Overdose,” he said shortly, and Bluth nodded, understanding.

“Right, I heard about that,” she said. Eliot wanted to roll his eyes. The town had less than 4,000 people, and he was surprised she hadn’t responded to the call on the night Chase died. The police department wasn’t all that big.

“You’d take her back to Portland?” Bluth asked, narrowing her eyes again.

Eliot nodded. “I know it’ll make it more difficult,” he said.

Bluth nodded. “Sure will. Word of advice, son, you better make sure your story is spotless.”

With that, she left the room and he quickly scanned for the bug hidden in the room. He found it on the underside of one of the nightstands.

“Camera in the hallway and bug in the master are both good to go,” he murmured.

“ _Got it. Thanks,_ ” Hardison responded.

He joined Bluth, Laurel June, and Rosie in the living room and hung back as Bluth explained to Laurel June that they’d be going into the city to the hospital to get her and Rosie checked out. Laurel June just nodded, looking dazed, and Rosie looked afraid.

“Why don’t you go pack a little bag for each of you for tonight? You’ll probably end up staying at the hospital overnight, depending on how quick the doctor can see y’all,” Bluth said gently.

Laurel June stood and went into her bedroom, and Rosie stayed on the couch, looking like she would cry again.

“You can go help her,” Bluth suggested, gesturing towards the master bedroom and looking pointedly at Eliot.

He hesitated. “She’s gonna be upset with me,” he said quietly, and she sighed almost imperceptibly and followed Laurel June.

Eliot looked around the room for the camera and saw it stuck to the far side of the tv, well out of sight. He frowned slightly, a spark of an idea forming in his head.

He turned back to Rosalia and held out his hand. “Let’s go get your backpack all packed up, okay, punkin?”

She took his hand and let him lead her to her bedroom. The room was plain, clearly not intended to be a child’s room, and it looked like nothing had changed since Rosie moved in except the clothes in the closet and a couple books on the small bedside table. The bed, much too large for such a small kid, was clumsily made, and the room was the tidiest in the house.

Rosalia got a purple polka-dotted backpack out of the closet and put it on the bed, and Eliot smiled gently at her.

“Pick out a couple books to bring, hon, you might get bored,” he instructed, and she picked one of the books on the nightstand up and got another out of the closet. It looked like she had been keeping everything she didn’t immediately need tucked away in the small closet, and he raised his eyebrows, wondering whether she was naturally neat or it was the rules of the house.

He let it go and went to the small dresser, tugging open drawers until he found pajamas and undergarments for Rosie, then stashed them in the backpack and went to the closet. He picked out an outfit and grabbed an extra pair of shoes from the floor of the closet. As he began folding the clothes he watched Rosie out of the corner of his eye. She was biting her lip pensively and absentmindedly stroking her bruised cheek, and his heart ached.

“Rosie,” he said gently, and she looked up at him. “Can you go get your toothbrush and hairbrush for me?”

She nodded and left the room, and when she was gone he looked around until he found the bug stuck inside the lamp. “Camera in the living room is good,” he whispered. “But I’m moving the bug in Rosie’s room.”

After Hardison gave an affirmative he quickly unstuck it from just inside the lampshade and replaced it on the underside of the nightstand.

“Ready to go,” he whispered just before Rosie returned.

He quickly stowed the last items in her backpack and zipped it up.

He puttered around until he found her coat and a pair of shoes and helped her put on both, finishing just as Laurel June appeared in the doorway, saw him there, and left. He sighed to himself and let it go.

“When do you go back to school?” he asked Rosalia, holding out a hand and slinging the backpack over his shoulder with the other.

She took his hand and shrugged.

He nodded and stooped to pick up her koala, laying forgotten on the floor at the foot of the bed. He handed it back to her and she held it close.

“You’re in kindergarten?” he asked, and she nodded.

“ _I can start researching schools in Portland if you want,_ ” Hardison offered, and Eliot smiled softly.

“Yeah,” he answered Hardison, leaving his reply vague so Rosie wouldn’t get confused by him talking to someone who wasn’t there.

They went into the living room and found Bluth and Laurel June there waiting. Laurel June stubbornly looked away from Eliot, and he felt horrible.

“I’m gonna have you two ride with me,” Bluth said, gesturing to Laurel June and Rosie. She looked sternly at Eliot. “You can meet us there,” she said. He nodded. “We’re headed to Mercy Hospital in the city.”

He handed Rosalia her backpack and headed for the door.

“Junie,” he said, pausing in the door. She twitched at hearing her name but didn’t look up. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and left. He couldn’t say what he was sorry for; calling the police would have been what Laurel June immediately thought of, but he was also apologizing in advance for what he would soon be putting her through.

In the car he thumped his head onto the headrest and breathed for a few minutes, trying to forget the slap of Hunter’s hand connecting with Rosie’s cheek hard enough to leave a bruise, and the anguish in Laurel June’s eyes.

Then he forced the memories out of his mind, started the car, and drove off to pick up Nate. Time to get things moving. 


	7. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: doctors and hospitals, mentions of blood and needles, discussions of child abuse and domestic violence, injury, mentions of broken bones, mild ableism, police, discussion of pregnancy, mentions of death, mentions of guns, references to assassination, mentions of murder, discussions of cycles of abuse, self-hatred, and a brief mention of alcohol

“--no serious injuries,” Eliot overheard a doctor telling Officer Bluth. “She’s small for her age, and likely has some nutritional deficiencies, but I won’t know for sure until I get her bloodwork back."

Eliot sat in an uncomfortable chair in a hospital waiting room, almost out of sight of the doctor and cop, pretending to read a magazine and listening, mostly to conversations around him, but every once in a while tuning into Hardison’s steady stream of mumbling as he looked up good kindergartens near the pub in Portland.

When he and Nate arrived at the hospital Eliot had located Laurel June and Rosalia with some difficulty while Nate headed to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and some time to finish preparing some documents.

“And the bruising?” Bluth asked the doctor. “Abuse?”

“Definitely. The bruise on her cheek was caused by a hard slap by an adult, probably an adult male. Judging by the size, the bruises on her elbow were caused by the same person gripping hard. There were also some half-healed bruises on her chest, back, and legs, and she has a bump on her head right here,” the doctor said, pointing to a spot near the crown of her own head, and Eliot clenched his jaw to avoid growling. “All indicating physical abuse.”

“The interview?” Bluth prompted.

The doctor sighed. “She’s bright and attentive, but very shy and cautious. She’s neat, a trait you don’t usually see in young children, and I suspect it has origins in trauma. She has clear trauma responses, and self-worth issues you see in children who have been abused from a very young age.”

Officer Bluth let out a breath. “Alright. Anything else?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “My colleague who was observing the interview believes she might be on the autism spectrum, and I'm inclined to agree. I’d recommend a formal assessment, but that's out of my purview here.”

Hardison, in the middle of making up a little song about elementary schools, fell silent on the comms.

“ _Did I just hear that right?_ ” he asked.

“Yeah,” Eliot murmured. He was thinking back through his interactions with Rosie, remembering her inconsistent use of verbal speech, hiding under tables, latching on so quickly to Parker and himself, and eye contact that was either too strong or nonexistent. With a slow smile he realized he agreed with the doctor.

Rosalia was like him, like Parker, like Hardison.

Nate chimed in. “ _Eliot, how is the special education in Spencer?_ ” he asked, sounding simultaneously like he already knew the answer and also didn’t really want it. Across the room, Bluth made some small comment about the doctor’s suspicions after a surprised pause, and they began discussing Rosalia further, but Eliot had other matters to attend to.

“Virtually nonexistent,” Eliot answered Nate at a whisper, twitching the magazine he held up a touch to hide his smile. He couldn’t help it; being around other autistic people always made him happy, finding things they had in common and being around people who understood why, for instance, a fan blowing on him was really, really not okay. Aside from that, and it pained him that he was actually thinking about it this way, Eliot knew that the lack of appropriate education services here would be a bargaining chip in court.

“ _And Parker’s cover is a special education coordinator in Portland,_ ” Hardison remembered happily, evidently coming to the same conclusion Eliot had.

“ _Alright, good, I can use that. Hardison, can you beef up her alias, make the cover more convincing?_ ” Nate said, and if Eliot had been in a position where he could speak freely he would have reminded Nate that he wasn’t leading this job.

“ _‘Course I can,_ ” Hardison said, sounding mildly offended.

“ _And when you finish with that, I need you to go back through Eliot’s. I’m looking at what we’ll need to pull this off,_ ” Nate said, sounding a bit worried. “ _Eliot can’t have any trace of criminal activity in his past, or any hint of mental illness. There’s more of a pass on physical disabilities, but still, the cleaner we can make it…_ ”

“ _You’re talking about his original name and real backstory, Nate,_ ” Sophie butting in, surprising Eliot who hadn’t known she was listening, and judging from the little “ _oh_ ” from one of the other people in the conversation, she had surprised them too. “ _You can’t just go changing up that stuff, most of the people who are going to hear it have known him since he was small and would remember it.”_

Nate sighed. “ _True, but there’s still a suspicious ten-plus year gap between when he--”_

Eliot quickly pressed the tiny button on his earbud that muted the others’ conversation as the doctor nodded minutely at him while still talking to Bluth.

“Is that the uncle?” she asked.

“Yeah, the Samaritan. Daniel,” Bluth said, looking over her shoulder at Eliot to see who she was referring to. Eliot quickly looked back to the magazine so she wouldn’t see him watching their conversation, then back up to watch when Bluth looked away.

The doctor nodded. “I think Rosalia mentioned him in her interview.”

Eliot felt a little flutter in his stomach at that, warmth flooding his chest.

“Yeah?” Bluth encouraged, looking at Eliot again.

“I can’t tell you what she said exactly--confidentiality laws, you know--but I think she trusts him.”

Another doctor, a young Indian man in green scrubs and a lab coat, joined the small group just then and the conversation was dropped.

“Hi, are you Officer Bluth?” he asked. When she gave an affirmative he shook her hand. “Dr. Velmurugan, I’ve just finished examining Mrs. Classen.”

Eliot sat forward unconsciously, drawing the attention of Dr. Velmurugan and then Bluth. The first doctor bowed out of the conversation as Bluth beckoned Eliot over. He hurriedly complied, his palms suddenly clammy.

“I’m Danny Gillespie, Junie’s brother. Is she okay?” Eliot asked, not needing to add any anxiety to his voice.

“She’s doing okay,” the doctor said with some reservation, and Eliot’s stomach tightened. “The baby is doing fine, and there shouldn’t be any lasting damage to him or your sister.”

Eliot stayed quiet, sensing a ‘but’.

“But,” Dr. Velmurugan said cautiously, causing Eliot to wince, “she’s shaken. She’s bruised all over, and she has a poorly healed wrist fracture.”

Eliot’s jaw and fists clenched. He knew all about unhealed fractures, knew how they hurt, and _he_ punched people for a living. He was used to it; Laurel June was not.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, working hard to modulate his voice so he wouldn’t make the doctor or cop suspicious.

He sighed and shook his head sadly. “I can’t be sure. She was guarded in the interview, but I gathered that her husband has been abusing her since before they were married, and it has been escalating recently.”

Eliot nodded slowly. “Our parents smacked us around, too,” he revealed.

Dr. Velmurugan didn’t look surprised, but quickly composed himself and his demeanor became more professional. “I can’t be more specific than that, I’m afraid.”

“Of course,” Bluth said. “Thank you, doctor.”

“Can I see her?” Eliot asked.

Dr. Velmurugan nodded and pointed him to a room down the hall. He stayed behind, and Eliot heard him talking to the cop quietly.

Eliot unmuted his earbud as he walked towards the room the doctor had indicated.

“ _\--graduated in 2010 from University of Massachusetts Boston with a bachelor’s degree in--_ ” Hardison was saying, but Eliot cut him off.

“Guys, everyone’s good up here,” he said quietly, and he heard multiple sighs and murmurs of relief. “Nate, I’m ready for you. Room 236. Give me at least five or ten minutes before you come in.”

“ _I’ll be there,_ ” Nate assured him. “ _Good luck._ ”

Eliot knocked softly on the door to the exam room.

“Who is it?” Laurel June asked from the other side. She sounded...tired.

“Danny,” he said softly, and hoped she would let him in.

There was a pause. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice cold.

“Can I come in, please, Junie?” he asked, almost pleading.

A longer pause. “Fine.”

He sighed minutely and opened the door, checking his posture so it was relaxed and open, almost apologetic, before he went through.

Laurel June sat in one of the chairs along the wall, putting her shoes back on. A hospital gown was slung on the exam table. She didn’t look at him as he came all the way in and closed the door behind him. He sidestepped so he wasn’t standing in front of the door and wouldn’t make her feel trapped, and waited.

Once she finished tying her shoes, she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. Her face was flushed and her eyes puffy.

“Okay, you’re in, what do you want?” she asked again, looking like she was trying not to cry under her mask of stubbornness.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said softly.

Her jaw clenched and she closed her eyes, obviously trying to control her emotions. “How can you ask me that?”

He took a step closer. “Because I’m your big brother.”

Her eyes snapped open. “And what, you think that means anything?”

He stepped back, stung.

She went on, her voice quiet and even and dangerous. “You disappear for _twelve years_ and leave us to our own devices. You leave us with Mom and Dad and go swannin’ off to fix problems half the world away because you can’t fix your own family. And then you get back and don’t even bother tellin’ us? That you’re _safe_?”

“Junie, I--”

“You didn’t even come to your own sister’s _funeral_. And don’t think for a second that any of us bought that you were _busy_ ,” she spat. Her voice was growing louder and hoarser, and her face was growing blotchy like it did before she started crying. “The hell do you think Chase and Seth stopped talkin’ to you? But I kept respondin’, kept sendin’ you Christmas cards when I had an address for you, kept tryin’ to call on your birthday. An’ then you go and do this?”

Eliot growled, getting caught up. “Do what, Junie, save your life? Save your _unborn baby?_  You’re so fuckin’ self-involved, you always have been. You think for a second that maybe people do things for more reasons than just to piss you off?”

Laurel June shot to her feet, hands balled tight into fists. “I didn’t _need to be saved_ ,” she snarled. “I can take care of myself.”

Eliot pointed to her wrist. “That broken wrist says you can’t.”

“ _Eliot, calm the fuck down,_ ” Hardison hissed over the comms. “ _Personnel all around you are hearin’ you, and they look ‘bout ready to call security or come in themselves._ ”

Eliot took a steadying breath and allowed himself one more shot as Laurel June glowered at him. “Junie, you got a kid livin’ with you now, and in a few months you’ll have another. _Rosie_ can’t protect herself. You gotta _protect_ her. And you can’t.”

Laurel June squeezed her eyes closed. “Quit callin’ me that.”

“Look, Hunter is bad news, you hear me? You can’t stay with him. He’ll just keep hurtin’ you, and when you have kids he’ll hurt them too.” He switched to a more pleading tone, hoping to get through to her or at least steer the tone of the argument quieter to avoid having to deal with hospital security. “Junie, please, you can’t--”

Laurel June launched herself forward and shoved him hard. “Quit callin’ me that!” she cried. Small as she was and strong as he was, she only sent him back a couple inches, but it was enough to really get his attention. He stopped talking and balked at her as she shrank back, looking horrified.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. She sat heavily in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest tight, like she was holding herself together or perhaps making a shield to keep everything out.

Eliot blinked at her abrupt change in direction. He gathered himself and crept closer, maintaining an open, nonthreatening posture. A couple feet away he crouched down to put himself lower than his sister, brow furrowed in confusion and concern.

“Don’t call you what?” he asked quietly.

“Junie,” she whispered, looking like the name itself tasted bad. “Only Hunter calls me that now.”

Eliot thought back and realized with a start that it was true--no one except her husband and himself had called her Junie since he’d been back in Spencer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” he whispered. “What should I call you?”

She shook her head, not looking at him in favor of picking at a loose thread on her sweater. “Laurel June or just Laurel,” she mumbled. “I don’t like either but I can’t do Junie. I just can’t.”

Eliot pressed his mouth into a line and breathed through his nose a few times. “But Hunter’s okay?” he asked pointedly, keeping his tone under control.

Laurel June took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, looking small and fragile in that moment especially contrasted with how strong she had looked just a minute or two before.

“No,” she whispered, her lip trembling, and Eliot felt close to tears himself.

He could almost feel Nate’s presence growing ever closer. He had a couple more things to say before then, before all hell broke loose.

“Laurel June,” he said, coming a little closer and brushing his fingers against her wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

She screwed up her face as though squeezing her eyes closed harder would keep her tears in her eyes where they belonged.

“I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe when I was gone. I’m sorry I missed Marie’s funeral. I’m sorry I kept y’all in the dark about me. I’m sorry I called the cops tonight,” he listed sincerely, building up the courage to say his most important apology.

A knock on the door interrupted him, and he almost swore under his breath. Of all times for Nate to have horrible timing....

Laurel June wiped at her face and straightened up in her chair, composing herself. Eliot stood and went to the door, opening it with a little more force than necessary, only to be greeted not by Nate on the other side, but the first doctor, her hand on Rosalia’s shoulder and a faint smile on her lips.

Rosalia caught him by surprise and threw herself at his legs, and he only avoided toppling over because he was holding onto the door. 

“Hey, punkin,” he said breathlessly, fighting to switch gears and become the kind uncle instead of the protective big brother. He stooped and pried her arms off his legs and she hugged him around the neck instead.

He glanced up at the doctor, who was smiling at him.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Danny.”

“Yes, Rosalia told me about you. Dr. Wolf,” she said, sticking out a hand, and he had some trouble reaching up to shake it with Rosalia latched onto him as she was.

“Here, hon, I can’t stand like this for long,” he grunted, and picked Rosie up to rest against his hip. She held on tight and rested her head on his shoulder, and Eliot was almost grateful she was small for her age.

“Come on in,” Eliot told Dr. Wolf, and stepped aside.

“Oh, no, that’s alright, I just wanted to deliver her to some familiar faces.” She caught sight of Laurel June past him and waved. “You’re Aunt Laurel June, yes?”

Laurel June waved back. “Yeah,” she said, a little tearfully, then cleared her throat. “Sorry, I’m.”

Dr. Wolf waved a hand nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to get y’all set up with a room for tonight here in a little bit. I’ll be out here at the nurse’s station if anyone has any questions.”

With that she left, and Eliot closed the door.

“ _Missed my window,_ ” Nate said quietly in his ear. “ _I’ll be there in a couple minutes._ ”

Eliot turned slowly around to face Laurel June again, swaying side to side on his feet for Rosie’s benefit.

Laurel June watched him sadly. “She really likes you.”

Eliot smiled. “That true?” he asked Rosie quietly, and she nodded.

Laurel June sighed.

“I would continue our conversation, but…” Eliot nodded towards Rosie.

Laurel June agreed.

Eliot frowned. “She got her backpack with her?” he asked Laurel June, as he couldn’t tell from this angle.

His sister nodded and pointed just inside the door. He turned and saw the purple bag sitting against the wall and didn’t remember how it got there, but he figured it didn’t much matter.

He set Rosie down and grabbed her bag. “Why don’tcha read one of your books, hon?”

She just looked at him, so he unzipped her bag and pulled out the two books. One was a _Magic School Bus_ book about the five senses, and the other was _If You Give A Moose A Muffin_ , one of his own favorites as a child. He offered them both to Rosie, who picked the science book, to his surprise, and wandered off to sit in the corner.

Eliot quickly stashed the other book and sat in the other chair, next to Laurel June. He didn’t have much time to prepare for Nate’s arrival.

“Listen, Ju--Laurel June. I could sit here all night talkin’ about stuff I’m sorry for. Hell, one of these days I might.” He went to run his hand through his hair nervously but it was in a ponytail and he just succeeded in pulling a little bit out of the elastic.

“ _T-minus 15,_ ” Nate murmured.

Eliot took a breath. “I'm just… I’m real sorry. For all that stuff.” He hesitated and heard Nate ask a passing doctor where he’d find them. “And for what I'm ‘bout to do.”

Laurel June looked confused and for a brief, heartbreaking second, afraid.

Eliot couldn't look at her anymore. His cheeks burned.

“Danny, what are you talkin’ about?” Laurel June asked.

Eliot just stayed silent until he heard a knock on the door, louder than necessary. Rosie jumped up from the corner and rushed over as he stood and went to the door, hiding behind him and clutching his hand.

Eliot closed his eyes to steady himself before he opened the door. Moment of truth.

Nate stood on the other side, giving him a sympathetic look in the fraction of a second it took to open the door wide enough to let him in. He wore a garish orange suit with a pale green paisley shirt and salmon tie, and Eliot’s eyes started to water just looking at him. Nate’s hair was slicked and the way he smiled once he got into character showed off his crooked front teeth nicely.

“Mister Gillespie, nice to see you again,” Nate said, his voice nasal and grating. He stepped past Eliot into the room. Eliot turned slowly, Rosie tight against his hip.

“Who are you?” Laurel June asked.

“Jimmy Papadokalis,” Nate said, handing her a business card with one hand and shaking her hand with his other. “Ah, Esquire. Portland, Oregon.”

Laurel June frowned at the card and then looked up at Eliot, some sort of understanding happening behind her eyes.

“A lawyer? Danny, what is this?” she asked.

Eliot hesitated, started to speak a couple of times but his voice gave out every time he opened his mouth. Nate took pity on him.

“Mister Gillespie is filing for custody of one, uh, Rosalia Baker,” Nate said, looking at the file he held. He squinted around like he'd forgotten his glasses until he saw Rosalia, peering out from behind Eliot. “There she is. Hello,” Nate said, almost breaking character as he stooped and held a hand out.

Rosalia just stared at him, and he stood.

“Alright,” Nate said, playing up his disappointment, then seemed to shrug it off. “You are the temporary guardian, yes?”

“I am,” Laurel June said, cheeks turning red and looking increasingly more upset by the second.

“Then, uh, this is for you,” Nate said, leafing through the file he held and then handing over the whole thing. “We’ll be in touch to set up a date for the hearing.”

Nate stooped again and smiled at Rosalia. “Nice to meet you, honey,” he said, his accent slipping a little. “I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

He hurriedly shook Laurel June’s hand, who looked stunned and close to tears, and Eliot’s, before leaving. As the door closed, Eliot closed his eyes and steeled himself.

“Danny,” Laurel June whispered, like she couldn’t physically make her voice any louder. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Eliot repeated. “I can’t sit by and watch my baby sister and my niece and my future nephew get hurt on a daily basis.”

“I’m not hurt,” Laurel June insisted, her voice rising a little in volume. She ignored the other accusations.

Eliot pulled Rosalia out from behind his leg and turned her to face his sister. “Look at her,” he ordered Laurel June. “That bruise on her face? Shouldn’t’ve happened. It ain’t gonna happen again. Not to her. Not to you.”

Laurel June stared at Rosie with a pained expression. After several seconds Rosie pulled herself out of Eliot’s hands and went back to her book, and Laurel June squeezed her eyes shut and sat heavily in her chair.

“I think you need to go, Danny,” she whispered.

Eliot watched her for a minute, trying to think of what else to say to hopefully get it through her thick skull, but came up short when he saw her wipe at her eyes, notice a bruise on her wrist, and tug her sleeve down over it. It was no use. She’d get it eventually, but not today.

He sighed. “I’m going back to Portland tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be back for the hearing. Just think about it,” he muttered as he turned to go.

At the door he paused. “Rosie,” he said quietly. She looked up at him, not meeting his eyes but focusing on a point just beyond his shoulder. He stooped down.

“C’mere,” he said. She came close, her book still clutched in her tiny hands. “I’ll be back soon, alright?”

She shook her head hard, her lip beginning to quiver.

“I have to go back home for a few days to take care of some stuff.”

She screwed up her face like she was about to cry and he knew she’d been paying attention to their conversation and understood far more than he’d anticipated. He swallowed with difficulty.

“I’ll be back. I promise. You understand?”

She nodded and wiped at her eyes, and his heart broke again. He’d only be gone for a week and a half, hopefully less, but the fact that he didn’t know what would happen to her in the meantime made his stomach churn.

“You still got my phone number?” he asked, and she nodded. “Good. Hold onto it and call me if you ever need anything. Anything, punkin. Even if you just want to talk about school or TV.”

She hiccuped and nodded. “Alright, hon,” he whispered. “I gotta go. Do you want a hug?”

She stepped forward and hugged him tight, the corners of her book digging into his ribs. He winced but hugged her back, matching how tight her arms were around his neck.

He finally had to pull her away. “Time for me to go,” he said. “You be brave, kiddo, alright?”

She was crying too hard to answer him, and he forced himself to move. He stood with some difficulty on stiff knees and looked at Laurel June, who was staring, eyes blank, off into the distance and worrying her lip between her teeth.

“Laurel June,” he said quietly, and after a moment her eyes refocused on him. “I know it's a lot to ask right now, but can you keep me updated about you and Rosie while I'm gone?”

Laurel June nodded, seeming resigned to whatever was going to happen, and Eliot gritted his teeth and forced his limbs to move, his arms to open the door and his legs to carry him into the hallway.

Nate stood in the little waiting area at the end of the hall, his eyes soft. As Eliot shuffled past him he reached out and patted his shoulder, and Eliot let him. Together, wordlessly, they took the elevator down to the underground parking garage.

By the time they reached the rental car, Eliot had collected himself. His idea he’d had earlier was now at the forefront of his mind, and by the time he pulled out of the hospital parking lot he had a plan.

“Parker,” he said. “You there?”

“ _Gimme a second, I’ll put her on,_ ” Hardison said. There was a little scuffle on the other end and a short pause, then the faint buzz of another comm coming online.

“ _What's up?”_ Parker asked, sounding for the most part like she was recovered from her panic attack earlier.

“You up for a break-in?” Eliot asked.

“ _Always_ ,” Parker said, a smile in her voice.

“Alright, listen close,” Eliot said, closing his eyes for a second to make sure he was remembering correctly. They were at a stoplight, but Nate tapped the console between them to get his attention and then pointed to the stoplight showing green. He sighed and hit the gas, hoping he'd get it right. “I need you to go up in Waylon and Marcie’s attic and look for a tape. It should be in a box of home videos, but you might need to look for the Christmas stuff. Should be called somethin’ like ‘Christmas 98’.”

“ _What is it?_ ” Parker asked.

Eliot grimaced. “Proof that Waylon and Marcie can't be trusted with kids,” he said.

Nate raised an eyebrow at him, and Parker made an impressed noise over the comms.

“ _I'll go with_ ,” Hardison offered. “ _We’ll take Nate and Sophie’s rental._ ”

“After that there's not much reason to stay until the hearing, so can you get tickets back to Portland for tomorrow?” Nate asked.

“ _Sure can,_ ” Hardison said.

“In the afternoon, preferably,” Nate added. “I've got some more paperwork to deliver in the morning.”

Eliot frowned at him, and Nate picked up on his unspoken question. “More custody filing notifications. Waylon and Marcie, Seth, and probably your aunt. Beth, isn't it? And I'll have to deliver a copy to the courthouse and set up a hearing date.”

Sophie groaned on the other end. “ _It would probably be easier to just take Rosalia with us and give her new documents,"_ she said.

Eliot rolled his eyes. “We ain't stealin’ her, Soph. I don't want the FBI after me for kidnapping across state lines. I already got them after me for so many other reasons.”

“ _Fair,_ ” Sophie acquiesced. “ _Actually using the legal system’s a bit shit though, isn't it?_ ”

“ _Yeah, I'm real glad we don't,_ ” Hardison agreed.

As the team lamented the failings of the United States justice system, Eliot drove back to the hotel, fighting to stay positive and believe he could get Rosie out.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, with Hardison sprawled out on one side and Parker curled up on his other, Eliot lay wide awake in bed and stared up at the ceiling in the dark. Hardison snored softly and every once in a while Parker twitched faintly.

His head was spinning and he fought to organize his thoughts so he could sift through them.

Okay.

Rosalia was afraid and unsafe. Laurel June was afraid and unsafe, but wouldn’t consciously recognize it. Hunter was horrible. Waylon and Marcie were horrible. Seth was seemingly okay but probably unstable.

Hardison was going to propose to Parker. Or maybe he already had; Eliot hadn’t been paying much attention to that in the last couple of days. Parker had a lot of trouble dealing with reminders of her abuse. Sophie and Nate were cutting their honeymoon short to help.

Eliot was afraid. He was terribly anxious, feeling a burning in his chest for days that felt like heartburn without the help of antacids. He was more afraid and unsure than he had been in the last twelve years, even more than the first time he’d been handed a gun and a file for some diplomat in another country.

Would he even be a good guardian?

He’d heard some statistic one time, that something like half of all abused kids went on to abuse their own kids, and historically he hadn’t turned out to be a good person. He had a temper the size of Nate’s ego and as quick as Parker’s lockpicking skills. He’d done horrible, horrible things in his life, and had been made to answer for almost none of them. He was trying to be a better person, atone for his sins by doing good things in the world, enact justice for those wronged, but nothing could possibly wipe his slate clean, even if he was perfectly good for the rest of his natural life. And given that he’d killed twelve people at once, virtually in cold blood, just three years prior and after he was supposedly a changed man no less, he had difficulty really believing Rosie would be safe with him.

He didn’t trust himself, so why the hell did Rosie trust him?

He debated waking up his partners, sleeping peacefully on either side of him, to tell them to call it off, go home and forget he’d ever thought he’d be a safe and stable parental figure.

He almost did. He was reaching out a shaking hand (when had his hands started shaking?) to nudge Parker when she reached out and took his hand, her cool fingers lacing themselves between his.

“You’re awake?” he asked in a whisper, realizing too late that he had been crying.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she replied. She propped herself up on her elbow and reached their intertwined fingers to wipe at his eyes clumsily.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling useless and burdensome.

“For what?” Parker asked.

Eliot shrugged. Parker waited for him to answer more, but when he didn’t she lay back down, putting an arm under his head and cradling him close. He let her hold him for a few minutes, listening to her heartbeat and relishing the feeling of her fingers playing softly with his hair.

“You think I can do this?” he asked finally, and he was terrified of her answer. “You think I can be a good father figure?”

She hummed softly, thinking. “Yeah,” she said. “You take care of us. You feed us and keep us safe. You patch us up when we get hurt. You beat people up who are mean to us. You’re always there when we need you.”

Eliot grimaced. “That’s… not really what I mean.”

Her fingers stilled at his temple. “Then what _do_ you mean?”

He sighed. “I’m… dangerous.”

Parker huffed. “Nuh-uh.”

He furrowed his brow. “I am, Park. I know you ignore that to make yourself feel safer around me, but I am. I’ve killed people. Lots of people. Innocent ones, too. And I hurt people without killin’ ‘em a lot of the time.”

She shook her head. “You don’t hurt the people you love,” she said confidently, sounding like she wanted to add a ‘checkmate’ to the end of her sentence.

Hardison snored loudly, just once, and twitched, and Eliot realized he’d forgotten his other partner’s presence. They paused, quiet, until Hardison resumed his soft snoring.

“I _have_ before, though, hon. I have hurt people I loved. And I know I’ll never forgive myself for it. I don’t know what I’d do if I hurt you two, or Rosie,” Eliot said quietly.

“That’s the difference, then,” Parker whispered. “Between you and other hitters, I mean. You feel bad. You don’t hurt people you love on purpose, and you feel bad when you do, and you do anything to keep them from getting hurt.”

Eliot stayed silent, not quite believing her but not able to come up with words to voice his dissent.

“You’re already taking care of her,” she said. “You’re trying to keep her safe. You’re gonna beat the people up who were mean to her. And you’re always there when she needs you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, starting to believe, and it _hurt_. The slow realization that he was more than just a weapon and could, _did_ care, burned down his throat like a good whiskey.

“I don’t really have a good frame of reference for good father figures,” Parker continued, “but from what I know, you’ll be okay. Better than okay.”

Eliot sighed in weary relief, finally believing her, at least a little. It would take more than just a pep talk from Parker, and Nate before her, and Hardison before him, to completely rework the inside of his brain, but it was a start.

“Okay,” he said shakily. “I believe you, I think.”

Parker hummed softly. “I’m right,” she asserted, punctuating each syllable with a little tap on his forehead.

“You get a lot more of this stuff than you let on,” Eliot observed. “Emotions and stuff.”

Parker shrugged, and the movement jostled him around a little. “It’s hard. Sophie’s grifting lessons helped some, but it still takes me a long time to figure some of this stuff out.”

Eliot smiled, all too familiar with the concept. “I hear ya.”

Parker’s embrace slowly becoming claustrophobic, he leaned away. She wordlessly curled back into her usual sleeping posture, and Eliot began playing with her hair in return. He heard her yawn, and figured she’d be asleep in thirty seconds.

“Thanks, Parker,” he whispered. She nodded against his hand and rearranged a little until she was tucked up under his arm.

He was struck again by how much she, arguably the most broken of the entire team, trusted him, the most dangerous.

He felt a cool hand smack lightly against his face.

“You’re thinking too loud again,” Parker said sleepily. “Go to sleep.”

He grinned against her hand and smacked it away gently.

“Good night,” he said.

“Sleep tight,” she responded.


	8. Respite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: discussions of homophobia, references to death, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of child abuse, mentions of injury, discussions of bullying, ableism, and mentions of ABA practices

“You want my pickles?” Seth asked Eliot, gesturing with a French fry to the dill spears at the edge of his plate.

They sat at a corner table at a hipster burger bar in the city, getting lunch before Eliot and the team left for Portland. Eliot had wrinkled his nose at Seth’s suggestion of the place, remembering the time in Portland he’d ordered a burger at a similar burger joint and received a sandwich so pretentious it almost couldn’t be called a burger anymore. It had truffle oil on it.

This place, so far, was nowhere near as awful and pretentious as the place in Oregon had been, and the first bite of Eliot’s burger was pretty good.

He nodded and reached over to slide the pickles onto his own plate.

“You livin’ in the city now, huh?” he asked.

Seth nodded. “I’m working at the Chesapeake Arena,” he said with a mouthful of fry, meaning the big basketball and concert venue in town. Eliot raised his eyebrows.

“What you doin’ there?” he asked. Seth had always been handy, and a little artsy, but Eliot had left before really getting a sense of what he wanted to do with his life.

“Odd jobs mostly, I just started a few months ago. I mostly do light and sound maintenance and run errands for the engineers, but sometimes in a pinch I’ll run the light board,” he explained.

Eliot nodded. “Pay well?” he asked.

Seth shrugged. “Well enough. I’ve got a--a roommate, so rent’s not too bad.”

Eliot noticed his little stutter and decided to leave it alone. He knew he wasn’t doing so well in the conversation, either, his mind drifting back to Laurel June and Rosie and Hunter more than he cared to admit, so he could forgive Seth’s awkwardness. He just dipped a fry in ketchup and nodded noncommittally.

“So you’re engaged,” Seth said, sounding a little impressed.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised, man,” Eliot said with a smirk.

Seth rolled his eyes, his shoulders relaxing a little. He was more muscular than he’d been as a kid, but still almost as skinny, and his tawny hair hung straight down to his jaw.

“I met her briefly at the funeral. Erin, is it?” Seth asked, and Eliot nodded. “She seems nice.”

Eliot stayed quiet and they ate in awkward silence for a minute. Finally Seth sighed and put down his burger halfway to his mouth.

“Danny, what’re we doing here,” he said, not making eye contact.

Eliot carefully chewed and swallowed his bite of food, considering his words, before he said, “catching up.”

“We’re not saying anything though, not really,” Seth said, tapping the table.

Eliot furrowed his brow. “What do you want to talk about? Chase?”

Seth winced and Eliot immediately felt bad. “No, just… stuff, you know. Real shit.”

Eliot nodded slowly. “Real shit,” he repeated. He sighed. “Okay, fine. But what we say here doesn’t leave this table, got it?” he asked, and Seth nodded. He stuck out a hand solemnly and Seth shook it.

“You wanna go first?” Seth asked.

Eliot shrugged. If what Laurel June said was true, Seth was completely out of the loop about family affairs, and probably didn’t know much of anything happening with Rosalia.

“Sure,” he said. “I’m, uh--I don’t know if Dad or Marcie or Laurel June told you this, but I’m. Filing for custody of Rosalia.”

Seth blinked in surprise. So he _was_ out of the loop. “Holy shit,” he breathed. He recovered and shook his head to clear it, then looked confused. “I thought Laurel June and Hunter had her?”

Eliot grimaced. “Hunter beats Ju--Laurel June.”

Seth looked surprised again, and Eliot was shocked to see that. Hadn’t Hunter beat the shit out of him on a weekly basis growing up? “I didn’t know that,” Seth said, his face darkening.

Eliot nodded. He must have been really out of the loop, then. “Which, uh, reminds me,” he began, wincing a little as he bent down to the bag at his feet and pulled out a file and handed it over. “That’s the documentation of the custody filings. I’m ‘sposed to give it to you to notify you of the proceedings or whatever, since you’re close family.”

Seth paged through the file blankly, but when Eliot said “close family,” he looked up with a sad smile.

“Guess you don’t know all of what happened around here,” he said.

Eliot quirked an eyebrow and Seth took a long drink of his soda before crossing his arms over his chest and sighing.

“I’m gay, and Dad and Marcie more or less disowned me,” he said point-blank.

Eliot blinked in surprise. He’d long had suspicions, but figured he was a poor judge of character beyond whether people wanted to hurt him, so he’d written off his suspicions as being suggested by Seth’s childhood bullies.

His surprise wore off quickly, and he found himself grinning. Seth’s expression was guarded, but his eyes betrayed fear as Eliot stifled a laugh.

“What?” Seth demanded.

Eliot laughed in earnest, though he tried to keep it quiet so the other customers in the burger joint wouldn’t pay attention to them.

“I’m bi,” Eliot revealed when he could speak again.

Seth’s guarded expression faltered in his surprise and then fell away completely, and a slow, incredulous smile spread across his face.

“Nuh-uh,” he said.

Eliot grinned and took a sip of his drink. “Yeah.”

He debated, scrutinizing Seth, before setting his drink down and fiddling with his wrist cuff under the table.

“You, uh… you know what polyamory is?” he asked nervously.

Seth nodded slowly, brow furrowed.

Eliot smiled cautiously. “Erin ain't really my fiancée.”

Seth raised an eyebrow and Eliot continued.

Eliot fudged his and Parker and Hardison’s relationship a little, figuring it would be easier to imply romance than explain queerplatonicism. “She's just one of my partners. You met my friend Gerald?” Seth nodded. “He's the other.”

Seth hummed thoughtfully. Eliot watched him nervously until he smiled and picked his burger back up.

“I don't really have a roommate,” Seth said conversationally, and Eliot released the breath he didn't know he was holding. “I have a boyfriend.”

Eliot grinned in relief. “Yeah? He treat you right? I gotta beat the shit outta him?”

Seth rolled his eyes. “He's great and I'd be pissed as hell if you hurt him.”

 

* * *

 

They flew back to Portland that afternoon. Nate had spent the morning tracking down and delivering notices of custody filings to various other members of Eliot’s family and the courthouse, and by three they were on a plane back home, Eliot’s stomach churning with every passing minute he got farther from Laurel June and Rosie.

He sat next to Hardison on the plane, Parker having called the seat next to Sophie, leaving Nate alone next to an obnoxious businessman. Hardison kept up a steady stream of chatter as the plane rose into the air, infodumping about new developments on _Doctor Who_ and whatever stellar new effects they were using, and once going off on a fifteen-minute tangent about _Torchwood_ , whatever the hell that was.

Eliot listened idly, glad at least to have some kind of distraction from his thoughts. He fidgeted with one of Hardison’s stim toys he’d plucked at random from his bag, a bracelet made of bicycle chain, and Hardison absently toyed with his spinner ring as he talked, occasionally tapping his hands quickly on his armrests when he got particularly excited.

It was nice, Eliot thought mildly after a while, to be able to do this, to sit with someone he loved and listen to them talk about things they were passionate about, comfortable enough with each other not to bother pretending to be something they both weren’t. They avoided eye contact smoothly, Hardison turning his gaze to the ceiling or down at his hands while his low voice expounded on something called a Slitheen, Eliot watching the clouds and mountains soar past out the window or closing his eyes altogether while he listened.

Eliot wanted Rosie to grow up feeling like this, feeling accepted and understood, with people who could help her through her challenges and celebrate her triumphs, however small or unconventional. She deserved that.

And even if Laurel June could keep her safe, she wouldn’t completely understand Rosie. She’d always made fun of him growing up, playfully snatching whatever he was fidgeting with out of his hands and darting away, thinking it was all a game when he ran after her and wrestled with her to get it back. He had been older and faster, so he had always gotten his things back, but he hadn’t appreciated it, and she, being the annoying little sister she was, had kept at it even when he told her sternly to knock it off.

No, Rosie deserved to grow up around people like her.

 

* * *

 

The next week was a flurry of preparations.

Nate and Hardison were on legal prep, pulling in Eliot for meetings a couple times a day to fill him in and get him to sign things. Sophie was on coordination, calling various Oklahoma and Oregon offices under her alias of Margaret Polk the social worker, setting up a formal autism assessment for Rosie and pulling her school, medical, and DHS records. Sophie also kept tabs on Laurel June and Hunter, calling a few times during the week for updates.

Hunter had been arrested after Laurel June and Rosalia’s hospital visit and charged with assault and battery, domestic abuse in the presence of a child, child abuse, and child endangerment. Nate wasn't planning on being involved in Hunter’s criminal trial, so he and Sophie coordinated with prosecuting attorneys in Oklahoma City on Laurel June’s assent.

With Hunter safely in jail for the time being, Eliot could rest easier. Laurel June and Rosie stayed home, and Eliot recruited Seth to check on them every once in a while.

Eliot and Parker were on real estate duty, scouring Portland for an ideal place to raise a kid, in between Eliot’s meetings with Nate and Hardison. Eliot originally planned to look for a two bedroom house, though the third day of real estate showings with Parker changed his mind.

“I talked to Hardison,” she said, and he raised his eyebrow and waited for her to continue.

When she didn’t, he prompted her with an, “about?”

Parker was absentmindedly wandering around the impressive master bedroom of the house they were touring, opening and closing the closet door and gazing up at the skylight.

“We want to move in with you and Rosie,” she said. Eliot just stared at her until she noticed and stopped. Her face contorted with confusion. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Eliot furrowed his brow. “No, no, just. Really?”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to him that his partners would want to live with him, especially now that there was a kid in the mix. It was a holdover from before they were partners, he recognized, when he was afraid of letting anyone in and having them around when he was vulnerable. He was past that, mostly, but since Parker and Hardison had continued to live at the brew pub and Eliot at his country house even after entering the partnership, he had assumed in practice everything would stay the same.

He let himself imagine the possibilities after Parker nodded sincerely--pancake breakfasts with the four of them on Sundays, putting Rosie to bed and then all three of them sitting down to discuss a client, having to scold Parker for teaching Rosie to pick pockets and locks, a firm no-talking-if-someone-is-having-a-quiet-day policy. It was a beautiful idea.

“Okay,” he said with a slightly breathless smile. “Let’s do it.”

“Is that good news I hear?” the realtor said, sticking his head in the door. He was too cheerful and Eliot and Parker, playing newlyweds, had been mocking him behind his back for three straight days. “You’re thinking you like this house?”

“No, sorry,” Parker said with a dazzling smile. “We were talking about something else.”

The realtor’s face fell. “Well, no matter. I have some other great two-bedrooms in this area, or we can look more towards midtown.”

Their conversation was effectively shelved for a few hours as the realtor dragged them to a couple more houses. That night, though, Hardison joined them in the sitting area upstairs of the brew pub.

“So, Parker tell you?” Hardison began as he sat down at the table where Eliot was unpacking the Chinese takeout.

Eliot hummed an affirmative.

“He’s in,” Parker said as she cracked open a fortune cookie. “‘Sing and rejoice, fortune is smiling on you,’” she read.

“You’re ‘sposed to eat fortune cookies _after_ you eat the real food,” Eliot griped as he sat down her container of orange chicken.

“After the real food,” Parker mimicked in a high pitched voice as she popped a piece of cookie in her mouth, and Eliot grumbled to himself.

“Wait, so, you’re in? You wanna live with us?” Hardison asked, leaning forward in his seat and looking excited.

“Yeah,” Eliot said with a little smile. “Yeah, sounds good.”

They heard crunching sounds, and turned to see Parker munching on a second fortune cookie, her expression thoughtful.

“Two bedrooms isn’t enough, then,” she said.

Hardison wrestled his excited expression into something more reasonable and shook his head. “Nah, we’d need at least three. One for Rosie and two for us, so’s we can have a place to split up on quiet days.”

Eliot nodded slowly as he stirred his noodles with his chopsticks. “If we got a four bedroom house we could each have our own space and then come together at night if we wanted.”

Parker’s eyes lit up. “I could have a hammock in my room instead of a bed.”

Eliot shrugged. “Sure could.”

Hardison pursed his lips and looked around. “What would we do with the brew pub?”

“Up to you,” Eliot said. “Y’all live here and you own it.”

Hardison nodded slowly. “Might rent out upstairs. Would we even need the briefing room, though?”

“We could set up a briefing area at the new house and do client meetings here still or somewhere else,” Parker said.

They were quiet for a minute, each separately considering the fate of the brew pub.

“Maybe we should just sell the whole pub,” Hardison murmured.

They went quiet again, but this time it was more resigned. As soon as Hardison said it, Eliot realized they had no need for it anymore. It had served its purpose, but hadn’t really been needed since Nate and Sophie left the crew. All that was really holding them there was memory and the fact that Hardison and Parker lived there.

“Maybe we should,” Parker agreed.

Eliot sighed. “So, should I call the realtor after dinner and tell him we’re looking for four bedrooms now?”

Hardison and Parker nodded slowly, in unison.

 

* * *

 

The next day the realtor excitedly showed Eliot and Parker a handful of four bedroom houses, starting with more modest ones and steadily getting nicer and nicer. After the fifth house’s kitchen wasn’t up to Eliot’s standards, the realtor leaned against the counter with his lips pursed.

“There’s a property coming to mind that, if I’m remembering correctly, has everything you’re wanting--nice kitchen, high ceilings, finished basement. It might be out of your price range, however,” he said, and Eliot smiled.

“Oh, we’ve got a good friend moving in with us now, that’s why we need the extra bedrooms, and so money’s no object,” Parker said. The realtor’s eyes lit up.

“I can set up a viewing for tomorrow if you’d like to bring along your friend,” he said. He cocked his head, seeming to remember something. “It might be more than four bedrooms. Maybe five.”

Eliot waved a hand dismissively. “That’s fine.”

The next morning Hardison parked the car in front of a pale yellow two-story Craftsman house with green trim and a dark wood door with a stained glass window next to it. Hardison and Parker and Eliot got out and scrutinized the house.

“Doesn’t look like much,” Hardison muttered, leaning in a little bit in case the realtor was nearby.

It was nestled in a quiet neighborhood where most of the cars were economy class hybrids and many of the houses had Halloween decorations up. Eliot smiled a little when he saw that; must be a good neighborhood for kids.

The realtor stepped out the front door, smiling, and they crossed the street. Introductions were made between him and Hardison, who gave a fake name like Eliot and Parker had done.

“So?” the realtor asked afterwards, raising his hands to gesture to the small front porch and yard. “Thoughts before we go inside?”

“It’s a nice area,” Eliot said helplessly, not sure what he was supposed to comment on.

“It is!” the realtor exclaimed, pointing at Eliot like he’d said the right answer, and he fought to stay in character. “What say we go inside?”

“Please,” Parker said. Hardison stifled a snort and feigned a cough to cover it up.

“Alright then!” the realtor said before opening the door and ushering them in. Parker caught Eliot’s eye when the realtor turned his back. She held up the man’s wallet, and Eliot shook his head pointedly and went inside.

The house was partially furnished at the moment--clearly stock furniture from the absence of any sort of lived-in feel, but Eliot was nevertheless instantly taken with the front room. Dark wood exposed beams in the ceiling matched wooden wainscoting and windowsills and contrasted well with the lightly colored paint on the top halves of the walls. A brick fireplace dominated the far wall, flanked by leaded windows with lattice patterns. Off to the side, an arch framed in the same dark wood revealed a dining room in similar colors, and off to the other side doors opened to a bedroom and a short hallway.

Parker hummed appreciatively as she stepped in, and immediately her eyes went to the windows, no doubt to make initial judgments of their security. Hardison nodded to himself as he walked slowly around the room.

“This house,” the realtor began, “was built in 1907. The last owners undertook a major restoration and renovation project. I have to apologize, though, it’s six bedrooms, and I know you were looking for just four.”

Eliot shook his head. “We could use the extra space,” he said.

The realtor grinned. “Then come on through to the kitchen.”

Stepping into the kitchen was like stepping into a different house altogether. Where the living room and dining room were paneled with dark, almost black wood, the kitchen featured bright white cupboards and trim. The main feature of the kitchen was a center island, on the far side of which sat three barstools, and beyond that was a kitchen table. Eliot ran his hand along the smooth wooden countertops and studied the appliances. The gas range wasn’t high end, but it would do, though he knew they could get a restaurant-grade one that would fit in the same space for not too much money. The refrigerator was missing, though the space it was undoubtedly supposed to fit inside was a decent size, and possible high-quality appliances ran through his head.

He realized abruptly that he was already thinking about fitting the space to his needs, something he hadn’t been doing in the other houses, and he told himself firmly to finish looking at the house before starting to daydream.

Just a moment later, though, he saw himself in his mind’s eye pushing a plate of breakfast across the island towards a sleepy-eyed Hardison, with Parker and Rosalia flanking him and already tucking into their own food. He blinked and wrestled his expression out of the faint smile that had shown up.

In each room it was the same thing. The downstairs bedrooms, of which there were three, were unfurnished, though as he walked through them, his boots echoing on the hardwood floors, he could see what they would put there. The first bedroom would be a conference room of sorts, to interview clients in, or maybe something more resembling an office. The second would be a playroom, possibly converted to a library when Rosalia was older. The third would be Rosalia’s bedroom.

The realtor led them upstairs, where they found that the entire second floor was one long room, the master bedroom. The ceiling sloped up to a point in the middle, and alcoves with dormer windows intersected the long room. To one end a king-sized bed was set up, and in one of the alcoves sat a desk; in the other, a pair of armchairs.

Parker and Hardison murmured between themselves as they went through the house, with Eliot wandering around by himself, lost in thought. When the realtor led them into the basement, however, Hardison let out a low, “oooooooh,” and broke away from Parker to study the large, open space with just a couple windows set high into the wall.

The realtor called their attention to a couple of doors on the far side of the basement, and pulled them open to reveal two more bedrooms, with a bathroom between them, and Parker raised her eyebrows and flitted into one to examine it.

Finally, the realtor led them into the small, but neat backyard, and Eliot was certain. This was his house.

They made some vaguely positive statements at the realtor and left, citing a need to think it over. They were quiet on the way back to the brew pub, but when they were sitting at the table upstairs, they couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

“I love that house, y’all,” Hardison said, swinging his chair around backwards and straddling it as he cracked open a bottle of orange soda.

“The master bedroom,” Parker agreed vaguely, her eyes wide.

“The _basement_ ,” Hardison groaned.

As one they looked at Eliot, who was watching them contentedly.

He nodded meaningfully, and they both broke out in huge grins.

“It's perfect,” Eliot said.

Parker clapped her hands excitedly and Hardison smacked the table.

“That's what I'm _talkin’_ ‘bout,” he said.

Eliot cleared his throat, grimacing when their faces fell. “But,” he said, “can't say yes just yet.”

Parker groaned. Hardison sighed.

“You're right. No sense in selling the pub and moving ‘less we know for sure we’re getting Rosie,” Hardison said, the tone of the room sobering quickly.

They fell silent. Parker pouted, her brow furrowed and mouth set into a firm line.

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught Eliot's attention, and a moment later Nate opened the glass door and poked his head in.

“El, when you got a minute,” he said, pointing towards the stairs. He stopped, taking in the three sitting at the bistro table. “What's going on?”

“We found a house,” Parker said sadly.

Nate cocked his head. “Isn't that a good thing?”

“Don't make much sense to buy it yet,” Eliot explained, and Nate understood.

He came fully into the room and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ah,” he said. He furrowed his brow. “Well,” he sighed, “it's just a family court hearing. We've won far more difficult cases with less preparation.”

Eliot nodded. It was true.

Nate clapped his hands together. “So, you packed?” he asked, looking between Eliot and Parker. Eliot nodded, but Parker shook her head. Nate frowned at her.

“Well, we leave at eight tomorrow morning, so you should do that,” he reminded her.

“‘Kay,” she responded, but made no move to get up.

Nate rolled his eyes, then turned to go. He turned back just inside the door with a smirk on his face.

“Let’s go steal Eliot’s niece.”

 

* * *

 

Hardison didn't have any hands-on parts of the job left, so he stayed behind in Portland to assist them from afar, but the others all packed up and flew back to Oklahoma City the next day. They stayed in a different hotel this time, a more modest one that Eliot and Parker could conceivably afford on teachers’ salaries, just in case they needed to entertain Eliot’s family.

As soon as they checked into their hotel, Eliot and Parker drove to Laurel June’s house. As they drove up, Eliot groaned. There was an old, beat-up pickup truck in the driveway. The letter F had fallen off the tailgate when Eliot was twelve, leaving it an “ORD”.

“My father’s here,” Eliot grumbled.

Parker grimaced.

“ _Play nice, you two, at least until tomorrow_ ,” Nate said over the comms.

Eliot growled but didn't say anything.

Marcie answered the door when they knocked, and Eliot expected her to greet them coldly or turn them away.

“Well! Look who it is,” she said brightly, however, and shooed them inside.

Waylon sat in Hunter’s chair and Eliot gritted his teeth for a moment, seeing the first man who had ever hurt his sister literally taking the place of the man currently hurting his sister. He somehow avoided doing or saying anything to that effect and was greeted with a raised hand and a nod. When Waylon saw Parker, however, he shoved out of the recliner and came over with a grin.

Eliot’s jaw tightened as Waylon took Parker’s hand. Her other hand, which had been resting lightly at Eliot’s lower back, tightened into claws and Eliot bit back a groan as her nails dug into his back through his shirt. Her face remained softly pleasant, however.

“Good to see you ‘gain, darlin’,” Waylon said smoothly.

Eliot feigned an eye roll, trying to appear in good spirits. “Dad, can you not flirt with my fiancée, please? At least not in front of me.”

Waylon smirked but let go of Parker’s hand.

“Laurel June! Rosie! Come see who it is!” Marcie called, and Eliot heard a door open.

Rosie came in first, slowly, then broke into a run when she saw Eliot and barrelled into him at top speed, nearly knocking him over.

“Oof! Hey, punkin,” Eliot said. He smiled warmly at her and she somehow scrambled _up_ him, using his shirts as handholds, to lock her arms around his neck. So she had the makings of a cat burglar, then. Good to know.

Eliot studied her quickly as best as he could from the weird angle as he propped her against his hip. The bruise that had decorated her cheek was all but gone, healed to just lines of yellow discoloration, and he didn't see any new marks.

Laurel June came around the corner into the living room and leaned on the wall, watching them. She looked like hell. Her hair was dishevelled and she had dark circles under her eyes. Eliot’s smile slipped off of his face and he heard Parker let out a breath forcefully next to him.

“Hey, Junebug,” he said quietly.

Laurel June came close, walking right into Eliot and thumping her head into his shoulder. Eliot shook his head and wound his free arm around her in a hug.

“Hi,” she said, her greeting muffled by his shirt.

Waylon, bored now that the attention was no longer on him, went back to the recliner and sat heavily, noisily putting up the footrest. Eliot ignored him. Marcie clucked her tongue, watching Eliot with a tightly clinging five-year-old on his hip and a sad twenty-four-year-old in his other arm. Marcie smiled sadly and went into the kitchen, and Eliot patted Laurel June’s back, trying to hide the strain of holding up Rosie’s weight with just one arm and a shoulder that had been dislocated several times.

“Let’s go sit down somewhere, huh?” he said quietly, and Laurel June nodded against his chest. She backed up and grabbed his free hand, turning and pulling him down the hall to the master bedroom, and Parker followed helplessly.

Just inside the door Laurel June let go of his hand and went to the bed, wordlessly getting under the covers. Eliot put Rosalia down, who jumped up onto the bed as well and crawled up to sit next to Laurel June. Eliot and Parker paused in the door until Laurel June patted the bed.

“Come on,” she said. “Close the door.”

The small television had a DVD player next to it and they had evidently been watching _Finding Nemo_ , because a big animated shark, grinning toothily, filled the paused frame. Rosie found the remote and turned the movie back on as Eliot and Parker exchanged a puzzled look in response to Laurel June’s invitation. Eliot shrugged and toed off his shoes as Parker closed the door, and they both went around to the other side of the bed and sat.

“How’s it goin’?” Eliot asked Laurel June, who was watching the movie disinterestedly.

“Fine,” she said vaguely.

Rosalia, eyes glued to the screen, absentmindedly started chewing on her fingers, and Laurel June pulled her hand out of her mouth gently. Rosie made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat and started spider walking her fingers around the bedspread. Laurel June put a hand over her hands firmly until they lay flat on the bedspread, and Eliot felt Parker shift beside him.

“You didn’t hafta do that,” Eliot said quietly.

Laurel June turned to look at him. “Do what?”

“Stop her from stimming,” Eliot said. When Laurel June looked confused he mimed putting his fingers in his mouth, and she shook her head.

“‘Course I had to, Danny.” She studied Rosie for a second, then carefully put her hands over Rosie’s ears and whispered, “Found out the other day she has autism.”

Eliot nodded. “I know. And you don’t gotta stop her.”

Laurel June released Rosalia and waved her hand dismissively at Eliot, then turned back to the movie. Eliot took a deep breath, determined not to upset Laurel June today, not when she already looked a wreck.

Eliot swung his feet up into the bed and Parker shifted farther onto the bed, curling into his side. Rosie’s eyes wandered, and she reached over to run her small fingers over Eliot’s bracelets. He unfastened one of the beaded ones and handed it over, and she spun the beads contentedly as she went back to the movie.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Eliot asked quietly. Laurel June sighed minutely.

“Not really,” she said. “But I guess I don't have much of a choice.”

Eliot nodded grimly. The hearing was the next day, and he was a bundle of nerves over it. He could only imagine what Laurel June was feeling; her husband was in jail, she was alone and pregnant and still presumably loyal to the man who had hurt her, and she might lose custody of her brother’s child, the one she was entrusted with should anything happen to him. Add to that the presence of her recently un-estranged brother and… well. Eliot was surprised she was doing this well.

“Fish are friends! Not food!” Parker quoted along with the movie, and Rosalia looked up at her, smiling. She crawled over Eliot until she sat in front of Parker, who looked startled. Parker smiled cautiously and leaned forward.

“Can I play with your hair?” she asked Rosie, who nodded, and Parker began combing through her curly hair with her fingers.

Eliot caught his sister watching them with an expression he couldn't quite grasp. Longing, maybe? Concern? Eliot gave up trying to categorize it, and instead shifted closer to Laurel June. He slowly put his arm around her and pulled her to rest her head on his shoulder, giving her plenty of time to pull away, but she didn't. She sighed heavily and held out her hand, which Eliot took with his free hand and squeezed lightly.

“You can take care of her, right?” Laurel June asked quietly, so quietly Eliot almost didn't hear her.

He hesitated, considering. He still doubted his own ability to keep her safe, but he had Parker, and Hardison, and Nate and Sophie, and maybe Seth by his side.

“Yeah,” he said, “I think so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is The House:   
> http://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6026-N-Haight-Ave-Portland-OR-97217/53933848_zpid/


	9. Moment of Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: ableism, mention of suicidal ideation, child abuse (somewhat explicit), death threats, violence, injury, mention of pregnancy, and mentions of ABA
> 
> I have no idea how the legal system works so lots of liberties taken ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Eliot pressed a clammy hand to the back of his neck, willing the cries that echoed through his mind to quiet down as he paced the width of the hallway outside the courtroom. Parker, still and pale on a bench nearby, watched him.

They had been in court all morning, and Hunter had successfully been stripped of his custodial rights towards Rosalia. The judge had held off on deciding whether Laurel June, in the absence of her husband, could keep Rosalia, for reasons Eliot could only guess at. She had moved on to considering Marcie and Waylon, who were unsurprisingly Eliot’s biggest opponents in the fight for Rosie.

They had argued that Eliot would be ripping her from the only life she had ever known and her family who loved her, and cited the court’s usual reluctance to place kids with out-of-state relatives, especially relatives kids haven’t known for more than a year.

“Rosie met Danny for the first time _two weeks ago_ ,” Waylon had shouted across the courtroom, ignoring his lawyer’s placating hand on his shoulder.

“Is this true, Mr. Gillespie?” Judge Lockridge had asked Eliot, her glasses slipping down her nose.

Eliot had nodded. “It is, Your Honor.”

Nate had cleared his throat. “Uh, Your Honor, Miss Baker has consistently stated her desire to reside with my client,” he reminded the judge for what had to have been the fifth time that day. “There is substantial precedent for placing a child with a relative mostly or even entirely unknown to the child.”

“Yes, Mr. Papadokalis,” Judge Lockridge had said tiredly. “As you’ve pointed out.”

Waylon and Marcie had changed tactics and begun expressing doubt as to Eliot’s ability to care for a child, which Nate and Eliot had shot down with references to Eliot’s “career” in education and, at Marcie’s accusation of severe mental illness, had produced a (faked) psychiatric evaluation from Eliot’s (faked) honorable discharge from the Army. Most of it was his _actual_ psych eval, with all references to post-traumatic stress and suicidal ideation scrubbed from it.

Marcie had reminded the judge that it was the middle of the school year, and Nate had replied that the Spencer school system was insufficient for Rosie’s educational needs, and that Portland would be a better fit, particularly because “Erin” was a special education coordinator and could properly advocate for appropriate disability accommodations.

When Marcie and Waylon had begun stressing how much _better_ and _stable_ they would be as guardians, Nate had brought out the big guns: the videotape from the Gillespie family Christmas, 1998.

“This tape may not be suitable for Miss Baker to watch, Your Honor,” Nate had said as he set up the VCR with difficulty.

“Very well. Mrs. Polk,” Judge Lockridge had said, addressing Sophie by her alias. “Could you and Miss Baker step outside?”

Eliot had nudged Parker, sitting at his side. “You don’t wanna watch this. You should go with Rosie.”

Nate, who had watched the tape in preparation for the hearing, had agreed, but she had shaken her head stubbornly.

“I’m going to watch,” she had said, and refused to move, but she’d gripped Eliot’s hand hard.

The video was standard Christmas fare, at least at first. Marcie held a shaking video camera as her children and stepchildren tore into their stockings in their pajamas. Eliot, who had been thirteen at the time, and Marie, at fifteen, were more or less reserved as they pulled packages of socks and a couple of candy canes out of their stockings. Seth, Laurel June, and Chase, at eleven, eight, and six, respectively, were noisy and excited as they pulled out small toys and candies. As the last Hershey’s kisses fell from Chase’s stocking, Marcie clicked the camera into a tripod and went around in front of the camera to kiss Waylon, who sat off to the side, almost out of the frame.

 _“Eww!_ ” Laurel June, sitting on the floor closest to them, exclaimed, wrinkling her nose jokingly.

 _“Shut the fuck up,”_ Waylon snapped, kicking her hard. She toppled over, crying out, and Seth and Chase froze. Eliot scrambled to his feet.

 _“Hey!_ ” he hollered, and Waylon turned an icy stare on him. _“Cut--cut it out.”_

 _“What was that, boy?”_ Waylon asked, his voice low and dangerous.

 _“Leave her alone, Dad,_ ” Marie said when Eliot lost his nerve under his father’s glare.

Marcie, settled on Waylon’s lap, pushed her hair out of her eyes mildly. _“Danny, Marie, it’s Christmas. Let’s not get all up in arms.”_

Laurel June whimpered, cowering on the floor, and Eliot drew back up again, courage returning.

 _“You hurt her,”_ he said. _“You can’t do that.”_

Waylon nudged his wife off his lap and stood slowly, stepping close. At five-foot-eight he wasn’t particularly tall, but he towered over thirteen-year-old Eliot.

 _“You tellin’ me what I can and can’t do now?”_ he said, voice low and even. _“You think you’re the boss of me?_ ”

Eliot visibly swallowed.

 _"Let’s get one thing straight, boy,”_ Waylon said, poking a finger hard into Eliot’s chest. _“I brought you into this world and I can damn well take you out of it if I want to.”_

Eliot’s eyes widened. It was the first time, but not the last, that Waylon had threatened to kill him. He stared up at his father for a moment, then drew himself up.

 _“I don’t care. Hurt me if you gotta. But leave them alone,”_ he said, voice withering slightly towards the end as he watched Waylon’s face turn red.

Waylon grabbed his arm roughly and tugged him towards the hallway behind Marcie, who sat in Waylon’s chair looking troubled but not concerned. After a couple of steps, Waylon stopped and turned back to his children and pointed to each of them.

_“All of you, one at a time. Oldest to youngest.”_

He didn’t specify what he meant, but the looks on each of their faces showed they knew exactly what he meant. He dragged a struggling Eliot out of the room and the kids sat frozen in fear until they heard the sharp crack of a belt, making them all flinch. Chase started to cry. Marcie just picked up the newspaper and leaned back in the chair, taking a long pull of her coffee.

After a long minute or two, Eliot, limping and already sporting a swollen eye, returned and sat quietly, apart from everyone. Marie steeled herself and walked slowly out of the room.

It was only once she returned and Seth left that Marcie seemed to remember the camera and shut it off, and the next shot was later the same day, after dinner. All five kids and both parents were nicely dressed, though the children each sported visible injuries, almost hidden under long sleeves and sweeps of hair. Presents in bright paper were being passed around the living room as Nate turned off the video.

The judge had called for a recess for lunch immediately afterwards.

As Eliot paced outside the courtroom and Parker watched, Nate came through the courtroom door to find them. He awkwardly rubbed his hands together for a moment before sitting next to Parker on the bench.

“You okay, Eliot?” he asked quietly.

Eliot didn’t stop pacing, just flashed a sarcastic smile and gave Nate a double thumbs-up. “Doin’ great.”

Nate nodded understandingly. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I was watching the judge and the video seems to have done exactly what we wanted it to do.”

Eliot’s pace slowed for a couple of strides and then picked back up. “I guess.”

The courtroom door opened again and Waylon came through. Eliot froze.

Waylon looked between Eliot, Parker, and Nate, and then set his jaw.

“Could I talk to my son in private?” he asked.

Nate just folded his arms and leaned back on the bench.

“I’m not leaving,” Parker said.

Eliot sighed. “It’s alright, y’all go get some coffee or somethin’.”

When they had reluctantly gone, Eliot turned back to Waylon, his face hardening.

“Loyal lawyer you got there,” his father said, gesturing.

“He’s a friend,” Eliot said shortly, and waited for Waylon to get on with it.

Waylon shuffled a little, trying to make small talk, but Eliot didn’t respond to any of it. Finally, Waylon sighed and looked him square in the eye, looking hurt. Eliot returned the eye contact, feeling uncomfortable but not wanting to wither at this crucial moment.

“Why’d you show that tape?” he asked.

“To keep my niece safe,” Eliot replied. “She ain’t gonna have the same childhood I did.”

“Your childhood was cushy and spoiled,” Waylon snapped. “My daddy tanned my hide if I so much as said a word out of line. I was lenient with y’all. And your _mother_ \--”

“Don’t you talk about Mom,” Eliot growled. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about Mom.”

“I thought families were s’posed to stick together,” Waylon snapped, ignoring Eliot.

Eliot almost rolled his eyes. “They do,” he spat, not bothering to reign in the harshness in his voice. “Far as I’m concerned you stopped bein’ my family the _second_ you laid a hand on my mother or any of us kids. You’re _nothin’_ to me.”

Waylon’s face abruptly twisted with rage and he reared back. Eliot blocked the right hook easily, held Waylon’s fist firm two inches from his jaw, and squeezed. Waylon looked stunned behind his anger and jerked his arm back out of Eliot’s reach.

“You ain’t gonna land any hits on me, so you might as well not even try,” Eliot growled.

Waylon clenched his fist and popped his knuckles with his other hand as he glowered at Eliot.

“Statute of limitations for the shit on the tape is up,” Eliot said, turning his back on his father. “You won’t get in trouble for it,” he called over his shoulder as he walked the same way Parker and Nate had gone.

“Don’t you walk away from me, boy,” Waylon yelled.

Eliot turned around and walked backwards while facing him. “You’re done, Waylon. Give it up.”

He turned back around and rounded a corner, finding Parker and Nate waiting for him. Beyond them, Laurel June and Seth sat on a bench, with Rosie on Seth’s lap calmly munching on some carrot sticks. Seth locked eyes with Eliot as he came into view and let out a deep breath, then nodded in thanks. Laurel June stared straight ahead, absentmindedly biting a nail. Sophie sat at the far end of the same bench and smiled sympathetically at Eliot.

Eliot turned to Nate and Parker with a little smile, feeling giddy and a hundred pounds lighter. “Thought I told y’all to go get some coffee.”

Nate shrugged.

“I thought that was code,” Parker said.

 

* * *

 

Eliot’s face felt like it was going to shatter. He’d never smiled so hard in his life.

“I am awarding full custody of Rosalia Nicole Baker to Daniel Gillespie and Erin Newell,” Judge Lockridge had just said, “with visitation rights for Seth Gillespie, Laurel June Classen, and Beth George.”

The courtroom, fuller than it usually was for custody cases, erupted in noise.

Eliot couldn’t help the laugh and excited “ _yes!_ ” that sprang from him, and Parker let out a whoop before she could stop herself.

Sophie, across the room with Rosie, barely avoided exclaiming happily, and instead leaned down to tell Rosie what had just happened in language she could understand. Rosie excitedly sprang out of her seat and ran to Eliot, who picked her up and spun her around. Hardison, on the comms, whooped loudly, not needing to police his volume.

Waylon slammed his hands on the other table and started yelling, and was removed by the bailiff, with a fuming Marcie trailing behind him. The judge adjourned court and left, catching Eliot’s eye and nodding with an encouraging smile.

Seth and Aunt Beth, in the audience, smiled hugely at Eliot when he looked around for them after handing off Rosie to Parker, who hugged her tight. Seth gave Eliot a thumbs up, and Aunt Beth motioned him over to pull him into a hug.

Laurel June smiled wetly near Seth, and Eliot stepped closer to pull her into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She sniffled and buried her face in his shoulder. “Don’t be. You’ll be great for her,” she said.

“I want you to come up for Christmas and her birthdays,” Eliot said, and she nodded.

“Not this year,” she said, pulling back with a little laugh. “I’ll be too far along to fly,” she reminded him, smoothing a hand over her belly.

Eliot nodded, realizing he hadn’t done really anything for her. He had a small idea that he’d been nursing for a couple of weeks, though.

“We’ll get you and the little one up for Easter, then, how ‘bout that?” he asked, and she nodded, a genuine smile beginning to spread over her face.

“Alright,” Eliot said. “I dunno when we’re heading back to Portland this time, but it’ll be a couple days yet. Let’s get dinner before then, all five of us.”

Laurel June agreed, and he made his way back to Parker and Rosie.

“Hey,” he whispered to Parker, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “You up for a break-in?”

She grinned at him. “When have I ever _not_ been up for a break-in?” she asked in return.

Eliot laughed and told him what she’d need to find at Laurel June’s house and where it probably was. She nodded and told him she’d seen it when she set up the cameras and bugs and again the day before.

“It’ll give you time to pull out the bugs, too,” Eliot said, then turned away. “Hardison,” he said.

_“I’m here. What’s up, Dad?”_

Eliot grinned, his heart pounding and his mind spinning giddily. “I ain’t her dad, asshole.” He took a second to collect himself. “I need you to track someone down for me. She should be in New York.”

_“Sure thing.”_

 

* * *

 

Eliot and Parker packed up Rosalia’s things that afternoon and unfolded the sofa bed in their hotel suite. After they all took a nap, Rosie on the sofa bed and Parker and Eliot in the king-sized bed, and Nate and Sophie in their own suite, they gathered around Eliot’s laptop to Skype Hardison. Rosie sat on her own, reading at first, with Parker’s headphones and iPod and her book resting atop her stuffed koala.

 _“So,”_ Hardison said, sprawled out on the brew pub’s couch with a tub of cheese puffs, _“when you gonna tell her you're not a teacher?”_

“Or that I'm not a social worker, and Nate isn't a lawyer?” Sophie added.

“Or that your name isn't Danny?” Parker asked, rounding on Eliot.

“Easy,” Eliot growled. “I hadn't decided.”

“You could do it now,” Nate suggested. Eliot frowned at him, then studied his niece.

He debated with himself, then nudged the mattress she sat on until she looked up and he motioned her over. She joined them in front of the computer, still wearing the headphones, and Eliot motioned for her to take them off to listen, and she did.

“Rosie, you ‘member my friend that was here a coupla weeks ago?” he asked, pointing to Hardison on the screen, who waved. Rosie hid her face behind her koala and nodded after a pause. “Well, his name’s Hardison, and he's gonna be living with us. He's been helpin’ us out.”

 _“Hi, Rosalia,”_ Hardison said. _“I like your koala bear.”_

Rosie poked her head out from behind the stuffed animal with her brow furrowed. “Koalas aren't bears,” she said, and Sophie’s eyebrows shot up. “They're marsupials.”

Hardison blinked. _“I did not know that.”_

Eliot laughed. “She knows her animals,” he said.

Hardison shook his head, laughing. _“I guess so.”_

“A lot of people think otters are marsupials too,” Rosie continued, absentmindedly picking a bit of fluff off her koala, “because they have pouches. But they’re not.”

Hardison looked impressed. _“Seems I have a lot to learn about marsupials. When you get here I want you to teach me everything you know about ‘em, alright?”_ he said, grinning, and Rosie smiled, squeezing her eyes closed and hopping from foot to foot for a moment.

Nate cleared his throat and pulled out a couple chairs from the small table the laptop was sitting on. He offered one to Sophie and sat in the other. Eliot pulled out the other two chairs, one for Parker, one for himself, and Rosie climbed into his lap.

“So, Rosalia,” Nate started. “My name is Nate, and I’m not really a lawyer.”

Rosie gave no indication that she heard him and fiddled with Eliot’s bracelets. Nate looked at Eliot, unsure, and Eliot gestured for him to go on. She’d heard him.

“I’m Sophie, and I’m not really a social worker,” Sophie added.

“Sweetheart, you know what a lie is?” Eliot asked. She nodded without looking up from the beads she spun. “We had to tell some lies so we could help you.”

She finally looked up, her little brow furrowing as she looked at Eliot.

He sighed. “Your dad _is_ my brother, but all my friends call me a different name, they don’t call me Danny.”

He watched the gears turn in her head and then she nodded. “They call me Eliot,” he said. “You can call me Danny or Eliot, whichever you want, but I didn’t want you to be confused when people called me Eliot.”

“Eliot?” she asked, and he nodded. She pursed her lips, thinking. “Okay,” she said lightly, and went back to fiddling with Eliot’s bracelets.

“And Erin here?” Eliot said, nudging Parker. “Her name’s really Parker.”

Rosie nodded.

“You got it?” he asked, and she hesitated. “Here, okay.” He turned her a little bit on his lap, facing outwards. “We’ll introduce ourselves all over.”

Behind her back, Eliot locked eyes with Nate and mimed shaking a hand.

Nate stuck out a hand and Rosalia carefully shook it. “I’m Nate.”

Sophie smiled gently as she took Rosalia’s hand in both of hers and kissed it softly. “I’m Sophie.”

Parker offered a fist bump, and Rosie returned it, giggling. “I’m Parker.”

Hardison waved, and Rosie waved back. “I’m Hardison.”

“And I’m Eliot,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Or Danny,” he added.

Rosie poked a finger to his chest. “Eliot.” She pointed at each of them in turn. “Hardison. Parker. Sophie. Nate.”

Eliot grinned. “You got it.”

Nate smirked. “Remind me never to play those tile matching games against her.”

Hardison cleared his throat. _“So, El, I called the realtor earlier. Gonna make an offer on the house tomorrow.”_

Eliot grinned. Rosie, realizing the conversation had turned into grown-up-matters, slid off his lap and went back to her book.

“An’ I’m takin’ Rosie shopping tomorrow,” Eliot said. “Get her some new clothes and books and toys.”

“We should take her to a hardware store,” Parker said, and Eliot frowned at her.

“I don’t think she needs any doorknobs,” Nate said, and Hardison snorted.

“No!” Parker said, gesturing like it should be obvious. “To look at paint chips. So we can paint her bedroom.”

“Ohh,” Nate said.

“Not a bad idea,” Eliot acquiesced.

 _“That could probably wait ‘til y’all get back,”_ Hardison said. _“We won’t be ready to move in for a week or more yet.”_

Eliot felt a little thrill at that. In about a week he’d be moving into a great new house, with his niece and two partners and dog.

“What’re y’all doing with the pub?” Eliot asked, looking between Hardison and Parker.

Hardison let out a breath. _“We think we’re gonna keep ownership and rent out the upstairs. That way we can still use it as a meeting place for clients without getting shit from the management and we’ll have another income source.”_

Eliot nodded, hearing his unspoken, “ _in case we stop running jobs now that we got a kid._ ” One look at Parker, chewing at her thumbnail absently, told him she’d heard it too and had probably brought it up. That was a conversation for another day, though, and something told Eliot they would probably never completely stop running cons.

“We ought to look for a new apartment,” Sophie reminded Nate. “Something nice. With bay windows, I think.”

Nate smiled at her. “Alright. But I want a roof terrace, too. And something near the marina.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Of course you miss your boat,” she said.

Nate shook his head good-naturedly and turned back to the others. “Do you need anything else from us until you head back to Portland? We were going to go back in the morning.”

Eliot shrugged. “Don’t think so.”

Parker and Hardison both shook their heads and Nate and Sophie left, calling goodbyes to Rosalia, who waved without looking up from her book.

Hardison cleared his throat. _“So I been looking up elementary schools near the house. One of ‘em mainstreams all their disabled kids and seems to have pretty good support services.”_

“Do they use ABA?” Parker asked, leaning forward.

_“Not sure. I was gonna call tomorrow to ask.”_

“Absolutely no ABA,” Parker reminded him. She’d had the therapy growing up and still bore the mental scars from it.

 _“I know, babe, I know,_ ” Hardison said. _“Worst comes to worst we can homeschool.”_

Eliot shook his head. “Nah, I want her in classes with kids who ain’t autistic if possible. I want her to have friends.”

“What’s ‘autistic’?” Rosie asked, and Eliot turned around to see her watching them.

Eliot let out a breath and out of the corner of his eye he saw Parker beckoning her over. When Rosie came close Parker pulled her onto her lap.

“Well,” Eliot said, gathering his words with his hands. “Autism is when someone’s brain doesn’t work like most people’s. You’re autistic, and so am I, and so is Parker, and so is Hardison.”

Rosalia looked puzzled.

“Autism means some things are harder for us, like looking at other people’s eyes, or knowing what other people are feeling,” Parker added.

 _“And sometimes stuff that don’t bother other people, bother us. Like, I don’t like feeling feathers, but most people don’t mind touching ‘em,”_ Hardison chimed in.

“I don’t like it when people touch my back when I don’t expect it,” Parker said.

“An’ sometimes it can be hard to talk when people want us to,” Eliot said. “You understand?”

Rosie thought for a minute, then nodded.

“Being autistic isn’t a bad thing,” Parker said gently. “It just means that we’re… a little different. And that’s not bad.”

Rosie’s hands fluttered up as if she was about to start flapping them, but she quickly put them back down in her lap. Parker looked pained up at Eliot.

“You can flap, punkin, it’s okay,” he assured his niece. “We ain’t ever gonna stop you from flappin’ or anything else like that.”

As an encouragement, Parker, her arms wrapped loosely around Rosie, started flapping in her own way, one hand flapping up and down from her knuckles and the other twisting side to side. Rosie watched her hands fly for a moment, and Eliot fiddled with his bracelets, and a glance at the laptop showed Hardison jiggling his leg and chewing on his hoodie strings.

Slowly, Rosie’s hands lifted and she tentatively gave a few flaps, then looked cautiously at Eliot, who nodded in encouragement and kept fiddling with his bracelets. She flapped a few more times with more confidence, until her hands fluttered outright, a grin on her face as she watched her own hands fly.

Hardison laughed happily. _“I’m buyin’ up every stim toy I can find on the internet, y’all best believe.”_

 

* * *

 

Seth slurped his soda loudly, earning a giggle from Rosalia and an admonishment from Laurel June. They sat in a diner in Oklahoma City alongside Eliot and Parker, the night before the latter two and Rosalia were leaving for Portland.

“You’re a bad influence on your niece, Seth Vincent,” Laurel June said, earning a shit-eating grin from the man she’d directed the chastisement at.

Eliot smiled and Parker squeezed his hand. Seth was looking happier, and Laurel June had more-or-less come out of the funk she had been in when he returned to Spencer a few days before. She was still quieter than she had been as a teenager, and even since he’d returned to Spencer for the first time about two weeks ago, but the color had returned to her cheeks and she was eating, at least.

Parker made a silly face at Rosie across the table, who returned it. Eliot was glad to see that; they were getting along. Bonding, even. He’d been worried about it; Parker had had no shortage of being awkward around children in the several years he’d known her.

He looked around, trying to remember what he had been about to do. He caught sight of a woman in a bright red dress, watching him, and remembered.

“So,” he said, leaning forward and locking eyes with Laurel June. “What’re you gonna do now?”

She looked overwhelmed for a second and blew out a breath. “I don’t really know,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Probably try to get my secretary job back, at least til the baby comes.”

Eliot smiled at her. “I got a better idea.”

Laurel June looked surprised, then shook her head. “Nuh-uh, I ain’t movin’ to Portland with y’all.”

Eliot made a face. “Nah, I don’t want my annoying little sister there anyway.”

She looked confused. “Then what?”

Eliot motioned for Lina, sitting across the diner, to come over. “Now, it’s up to you whether you do it or not, but I called an old friend from New York--”

“Hi,” Lina said with a small smile, walking over. Laurel June’s eyes widened. She looked between Lina and Eliot a couple of times with disbelief plastered across her face.

“Lina Heller? _You know Lina Heller?_ ” she asked, dumbfounded.

Eliot stood and gave Lina a quick hug. “Mmhmm. We worked in the same building for a while,” he explained, letting Laurel June think Lina’s photography studio and darkroom were in the same building as a school rather than say how he really knew her, which was that he’d once retrieved a very valuable memory card from some Serbian thugs for her. He had worked in the same building, though. Punching out fifteen brutes in the basement definitely counted as “in the same building.”

Lina grinned, her wide afro bouncing as she nodded. “Daniel and I have been friends for, oh, how long has it been?” she asked Eliot, her Welsh accent surprising Seth.

“Almost eight years,” Eliot replied.

“That’s right! Yeah, because I’d just put up my cat series at the Columns,” she said, pointing at Eliot.

Laurel June was still dumbfounded. Her mouth hung open slightly, and she was clearly starstruck.

Lina Heller was one of the most famous young photographers in New York. She’d been relatively successful when she and Eliot met, though she didn’t have even close to the same name-recognition that she did now--a prominent series done with colored sand a couple years ago caught the eye of the whole art community, and not just in New York. Eliot had met many famous people in his line of work, but kept tabs on only a few of them. Lina was one of them; she was always unfailingly kind, even as her sense of humor killed.

“How did you--what? What are you doing? How--?” Laurel June sputtered, and Eliot looked sheepish.

“Don’t hate me, but I borrowed the memory card from your camera,” he said. Parker shot a look at him, and he waved a hand at her, hopefully where Laurel June wouldn’t see.

“He sent me a few of your shots,” Lina said. “I was extremely impressed, especially considering they were straight from the camera and hadn’t been edited at all.”

Laurel June was speechless again, and they waited for her to recover.

“I can’t _believe_ you,” she said, smacking Eliot on the chest.

“Wait til you hear her out,” Eliot cautioned.

Lina rolled her eyes at him. “Brothers, right?” she laughed. “Anyway. I’d like to offer you a position as my assistant, with your own studio space and access to my contacts so you can build your own portfolio. You'd have to move to New York, though.”

Laurel June looked like she was about to faint. Seth whistled.

“So?” Eliot asked.

Laurel June just nodded with her mouth hanging open, and Lina clapped her hands together. “Good!”

“Th- _thank_ you,” Laurel June finally stuttered out.

“Not at all!” Lina said with a little flutter of her fingers. “I’ve been _agonizing_ over finding a new assistant. My last one decided last minute to move with his husband to Alberta.”

After another minute or two of conversation and discussing logistics, Lina said, “Well, I’ll let you all return to your food. It was nice to meet you, Laurel June, and I’ll be in touch to talk details.”

“Likewise,” Laurel June said, then smacked herself in the forehead once Lina had left. “Oh my god, I just looked like a complete dumbass, didn’t I?”

Seth opened his mouth and Laurel June instantly shut him down. “Don’t,” she said sharply, raising one finger at him.

Eliot grinned at her. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m gonna kill you,” she said, smiling that smile only little sisters can manage when they’ve decided they’re going to make your life hell.


	10. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! This fic has taken over my life in the last two months and I'm glad people are paying attention to it lmao. This last chapter is almost entirely fluff to make up for how intense the entire rest of the fic is.  
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.  
> Thanks again! 
> 
> warnings in this chapter for: references to death, mentions of ABA, brief mention of drugs, brief mention of pregnancy, and reference to domestic violence and child abuse

“Mr. Spencer!”

Eliot grinned as Cody went down the front steps of Eliot’s country house, Beate hot on his heels. The dog quickly overtook Cody and raced ahead to jump up on Eliot, and he greeted her briefly before attempting to cajole her into settling down.

Eliot made Beate sit and stay before he turned to Cody and shook his hand.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Thanks for watchin’ things.”

“No problem,” Cody said. “It’s my job.”

Eliot chuckled. “That’s true. Well, you wanna meet my niece?” he asked, gesturing to the backseat of his car.

Cody raised his eyebrows. “So you got her?”

Eliot grinned and opened the car door. He stooped to unbuckle Rosie and help her out, and she looked around with wide, curious eyes until she saw Cody and hid behind Eliot.

“Rosie, hon, this is my friend Cody. Sit, Beate,” he reminded his dog, who was attempting to get at Rosie to smell her.

Cody stepped a little closer and crouched down to be at eye level. “Hi, Rosie.”

Rosie peeked out from behind Eliot and waved shyly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Cody said, and then he straightened up. “I’ve gotta go do some homework, Mr. Spencer, or I’d hang around. You need anything before I go?”

Eliot shook his head. “Nah, go study. You let me know if you need any help with your Spanish work, alright?”

“Will do.”

“See you later, kid. Check’s in the mail,” Eliot called as Cody walked towards his bike and waved over his shoulder.

Rosie was now peeking out at Beate, who had her big head cocked, watching her, with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth goofily. Eliot was glad he’d thought to ask if Rosie liked dogs (he’d taken her excited flaps and wiggles to mean ‘yes’) before they got on the plane home.

“Sweetheart, this is Beate. She’s very nice,” he said. “Beate, come.”

The dog came close slowly, sensing Rosie’s hesitation. She stopped about a foot in front of Eliot.

“Sit.” She sat. He smiled down at Rosalia, who was watching Beate warily. “You wanna shake her hand?”

Rosie looked up at him, surprised. He chuckled.

“Say ‘shake,’” he instructed her gently. Beate heard his command and lifted her paw even before Rosie echoed him. Rosie cautiously reached out and took the proffered paw and Beate licked her hand, prompting a little shriek. Rosie smiled excitedly up at Eliot.

“Shake,” she said again, and Beate offered her other paw, and again licked Rosie’s hand when she shook it. Rosie laughed. “Shake. Shake. Shake.”

Eliot watched, laughing. “Alright, alright, you wanna go inside? It’s a little chilly.”

Rosie nodded, abandoning the dog for a moment, and Eliot went around to the trunk to unload their luggage, handing Rosie her backpack and, at her insistence, a big but lightweight bag that she could barely see over the top of.

Rosalia had never been on a plane before, and loved it after the first ten minutes, when Parker had an idea and switched on her noise-cancelling headphones. She’d watched out the window for an hour, then fallen asleep leaning on Parker’s arm. Parker had caught a cab from the airport to the brew pub, and she and Hardison would be on their way to the country house soon.

“What day is it?” Rosalia asked, suddenly stopping short of the front stairs. Eliot almost ran over her, just a step behind when she stopped.

“Saturday?” he replied, and she nodded and headed up the stairs, Eliot trailing behind.

There had been no time to prepare a space for her at the country house (or, really, he hadn’t wanted to just in case the trial didn’t work out in his favor), so Rosie wandered around, poking through bookshelves and the desk drawer as he set up a bed on the couch, removed the more obvious dangers, and unpacked his bags and hers. When he emerged from the bedroom a little while later she was laying on her stomach on the floor, nose-to-nose with a dozing Beate.

“You hungry?” he asked, and she followed him into the kitchen.

She nodded and he lifted her up to sit on the counter.

“Alright,” he said with a little smile as he pulled a couple spice jars from the cabinet and juggled them, prompting a laugh from Rosie. “What do we want to eat?”

He heard the door open and Hardison call, “Honey! We’re home!”

Eliot rolled his eyes and set the spices down before lifting Rosie down from the counter.

She went cautiously into the living room and Eliot followed. Hardison and Parker stood by the door, shedding jackets and shoes like usual, then padded further into the room.

Hardison smiled encouragingly when Rosie stopped halfway across the room, and he took a couple long strides closer, until he was a yard away. Then he crouched down, somehow folding his long limbs in a way that made him appear much smaller.

“Hi,” he said softly, and Rosie’s eyes flicked to Parker, who nodded.

“Hardison,” Rosie said.

“That’s me,” he confirmed. “I brought you a present.”

He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out, and she took a reluctant step closer until she could take the bracelet from him. It was made of braided leather, Eliot could see, and had beads woven onto one of the strands. He looked down at his own wrist and saw a similar bracelet, and he shook his head at Hardison. Hardison just grinned cheekily. Rosie studied the bracelet and then spun the beads a few times approvingly.

“You like it?” Hardison asked. Rosie nodded, and he smiled.

“Rosie, can you say ‘thank you’?” Eliot asked, and Rosalia shuffled her feet for a moment before taking a step forward and hugging a surprised Hardison briefly.

“You’re welcome,” Hardison said, his excitement barely contained.

“I was just ‘bout to start some dinner,” Eliot said. “Y’all eaten?”

“And miss your cooking? Nah,” Hardison said, standing up.

They all followed him into the kitchen and watched him while he whipped up some burgers. Rosie, having evidently taken a liking to Hardison, ran back and forth between the kitchen and the little corner of the living room that held her things until they moved, and she brought back item after item Eliot had bought her a few days ago, and Hardison dutifully exclaimed over them all.

When she brought him a book about animals, he commented on it and handed it back, but she just pushed it back into his hands and left to get something else. Eliot laughed.

“She wants you to learn more about animals,” he said.

Parker hummed thoughtfully. “Sign language?” she asked vaguely, out of the blue.

“What about it?”

“You think it would help her?”

Eliot nodded slowly. “Maybe. Worth a shot.”

Hardison smiled. “I’ve always wanted to learn ASL.”

“Me too,” Parker said.

“Then let’s all four take classes,” Eliot said as he slid the last burger patty out of his pan.

Hardison grinned. Parker got out the ketchup.

 

* * *

 

 

“Uncle Eliot?”

Eliot rolled over, groaning quietly. He blinked his eyes open to see Rosalia standing next to his bed, her head cocked. His eyes slipped closed again and she nudged his forehead. He furrowed his brow.

“What is it?” he asked sleepily, blinking quickly to clear his eyes.

“It’s Sunday,” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” he asked, not following.

“Are we goin’ to church?”

The question made him frown and he hitched up on his elbow. He hadn’t been to a church service since they’d stolen the St. Nicholas statue for Nate’s friend. Aside from funerals, that is.

“Do you want to?” he asked. She frowned, thinking. She shook her head.

“Then we don’t hafta,” Eliot said. “We can if you wanna, but if you don’t wanna, we won’t.”

She shook her head again.

“Alright, punkin. You can go back to sleep if you want, or I can turn on some cartoons on the computer,” he offered.

She left wordlessly and he heard the faint creaks of his couch as she hopped onto it. The soft _click-click_ of nails on the hardwood followed by a soft _whump_ told him Beate had joined her on the couch.

He smiled and lay back down, and dozed off again in seconds.

 

* * *

 

A little over a week later Eliot, Parker, and Hardison rolled up to their new house armed with matching coveralls (Hardison’s idea), cans of paint and wood stain, various builders’ tools, cleaning supplies, everything Hardison would need to wire their house into a smart home, a picnic lunch, and the kitchen supply warehouse’s guarantee that the fridge, range, and espresso machine would arrive for installation by noon.

Rosalia had started school that morning. The three of them had met with her teacher and the special education coordinator the previous week to discuss strategy. The faculty had been a little wary of the fact that three parents showed up instead of one or two, but when each of them had given input and had proved themselves trustworthy and concerned, the teacher and coordinator had loosened up and the meeting had been productive. Much of the uncertainty was due to the fact that aside from knowing she could read pretty well and liked animals, they knew almost nothing about her relationship with school. The most they could do was share what they knew and stress over and over that there was to be _no_ Applied Behavioral Analysis. None. _None_. (Parker had repeated this more often than strictly necessary, but the educators had gotten the point and that was all that mattered, she’d said.)

As they piled out of the packed van, Eliot squinted up and down the block, scrutinizing its safety in a way he hadn’t the first time; if they were going to live here, he needed to be extra sure about who his neighbors were. Hardison saw him looking and handed him the heavy tool box.

“I’ve been compiling dossiers on the whole neighborhood,” Hardison said. When Eliot raised his eyebrows, he shrugged. “Okay, this street down to that stop sign and the first couple houses that way past the stop sign, both sides of the street,” he said, pointing, “and all the houses that border our backyard.”

“Good. Anything?” Eliot asked, studying the cars.

Hardison sighed and hauled a can of paint out of the van. “I’d have to look at my computer, but basically--” he pointed at the house across the street and one house over, “--family of five. Mom busted on a minor pot charge in college. Dad’s head of research for an ag firm downtown. Oldest kid expelled from two schools for truancy.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Eliot said, irritated. “Anything _important?"_

Hardison grumbled to himself and slammed the van’s door.

“Fine,” he said testily. “Ex-Navy SEAL three houses down from the far stop sign. Unmarried, but he has two kids. Honorable discharge for medical reasons.”

“Better,” Eliot said, heading for the house. “Give me a rundown later,” he called over his shoulder.

They parted to work separately, Parker climbing all over the outside of the house to paint, Eliot repairing things inside, and Hardison punching little holes in the walls in the basement to thread wires through. When the kitchen supply truck pulled up at eleven thirty, they took a break to eat lunch on the floor of the breakfast nook so they could offer help to the installation crew if they needed it (and keep an eye on them--two birds). After lunch Eliot wrapped up his repairs and started painting Rosalia’s room.

At three he faintly heard Hardison’s phone chime from the basement and a moment later he heard feet on the stairs up.

“Rosie’s gettin’ out of school soon,” Hardison said, poking his head into the room. He came all the way in and looked around in a circle. “Lookin’ good man, lookin’ good. Nice shade of purple. You gonna keep the white trim?”

Eliot nodded and started packing up the paint. “She picked it out.”

They locked up and went outside. They had to walk around the house twice before they saw Parker, laying on the roof with her head and arms hanging off, painting the siding up under the edge of the roof.

“Hey!” Eliot called. “Time to pick up Rosie!”

Parker nodded and finished the patch she was working on, then locked eyes with Eliot and slid her feet down the slope of the roof until her body followed and she hung from the edge of the roof by one hand (the other held her brush and can of paint). Eliot positioned himself under her and she dropped without looking. He caught her with a little grunt--his knees weren’t what they used to be, but he didn’t fall and didn’t drop her.

“Thanks,” she said, a little breathlessly. She swiftly put the lid on the paint and stashed it on the porch, then joined her partners at the van. Eliot climbed into the back--her perpetual shotgun call applied to when Hardison was driving, too.

“We need a van,” Hardison said as he took off driving down the street.

“Well, Hardison, I’ve got some good news for you,” Eliot said with a smirk.

“You’re hilarious,” Hardison replied in a deadpan. “No, like a minivan.”

Parker, taking a drink of water, did a spit take all over the windshield. “Nooooooooo,” she cried when her mouth was empty.

“Wh--the _hell_ , Parker?!” Hardison yelled, at the same time Eliot hollered, “You’re disgusting! The hell is wrong with you?”

Eliot thrust a roll of industrial strength paper towels at her and she made a face at him.

“We’re _not_ getting a minivan,” she insisted as she started cleaning up.

“We’ll see,” Eliot said.

“We’re _not getting a minivan_ ,” Parker nearly shouted, turning around in her seat to glare at Eliot.

Several minutes and a heated argument later, they pulled up to Rosie’s school.

“Y’all calm down ‘fore we go in,” Hardison ordered as they stripped out of their matching coveralls, revealing their regular clothes underneath. They clambered out, each on a different side of the van.

Eliot groaned and took a couple steps away, fully aware of the other parents in the parking lot watching him. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair, grimacing a little when he felt paint dried near his temple. He put it out of mind and focused on his breathing. He’d been neglecting his meditation recently.

Breathe in tranquility. Breathe out tension and discomfort.

In a matter of seconds he was calm, and he walked around to the front of the van to join Hardison, and Parker a moment later. The tension was completely gone, and he smiled and threw an arm around each of them.

“Come on. Let’s go get our girl,” he said.

They headed to wait near the entrance to the school until they heard a bell sound inside and kids began streaming out, slower at first, the sound of slamming lockers filtering through the doors, and then more and more kids. Eliot, Parker, and Hardison scanned the mass of children for their own with no success. When the stream of kids turned into a trickle with no sign of Rosie still, Eliot began to get worried.

He wasn’t worried for long, because after a minute or two Rosie emerged, clutching her teacher’s hand tight and her other hand wiping at her red eyes.

Eliot met them halfway and crouched down. Rosie let go of Mrs. Tallman’s hand and shuffled into his open arms.

“We got a little overwhelmed once the bell rang,” Mrs. Tallman explained gently, and Eliot nodded.

“Me too,” Parker said with a little laugh, and the teacher chuckled politely as Eliot patted Rosie’s back soothingly.

“I think, if it’s alright with you, we’re going to stay inside for a little extra private reading time after the bell rings. Maybe five or ten minutes every day,” Mrs. Tallman suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Hardison said, nodding.

Eliot hoisted Rosie up to his hip. “How’d she do the rest of the day?” he asked.

“Very well for a first day,” Mrs. Tallman said quietly, with a kind smile. “She held back most of the time, but that’s to be expected. We did have a good time at the rice sensory table. No problems, really, just some shyness.”

Eliot smiled, relieved. She’d be okay.

“Thank you,” Hardison said.

“No problem. Have a nice day, and I’ll see you tomorrow, Rosalia,” Mrs. Tallman said, then turned to walk back into the school.

They walked back to the van quietly, Rosie sniffling and stimming quietly in Eliot’s arms. He brushed her hair out of her eyes when he set her down.

“That’s alright, punkin. I’m proud of you. You were so brave today.”

“Yeah,” Parker agreed, crouching down. “I remember my first day at a new school when I was your age. I was really scared. And I didn’t even talk yet.”

“I think,” Hardison said, standing casually behind Eliot, “today needs ice cream.”

“Definitely,” Parker agreed.

“Whaddaya think?” Eliot asked. Rosie sniffled, wiped her eyes, and nodded.

Eliot smiled.

“Alright, y’all. Load up. Rocky Road, here we come,” Hardison said, going around the van to climb in.

 

* * *

 

“Cody,” Eliot called out the back door of his country house.

“Just a sec!” he heard Cody reply from the small stable, and half a minute later he emerged wiping his hands on a rag. He jogged over. “What’s up, Mr. Spencer?”

Eliot grimaced. “I told you, kid, you ain’t gotta call me that. Eliot’s fine. You got a minute?”

Cody pursed his lips and looked around. “Yeah.”

“Come inside, I wanna talk to you,” Eliot said, and he winced when Cody looked nervous and silently followed him inside.

The house was mostly packed up; only a handful of things they’d need for the next couple of days and most of the dishes were left unpacked. The rest of the house was packed into boxes that stood stacked into the corners of every room. The big furniture pieces were staying for the next tenant, so Eliot headed for the couch. He moved aside a couple of Rosie’s stuffed animals and sat, then gestured to the other half of the couch. His niece was at the brew pub for the afternoon, and Eliot was positive Parker was teaching her some kind of thievery.

When Cody settled onto the couch, still nervously rubbing his hands with the rag, Eliot sighed.

“Alright, kid, it’s like this,” he started, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “I can’t take Bonnie and Gambit into the city,” he said, referring to his horses. “Backyard of the new house is too small.”

Cody nodded slowly, looking sad. “Are you gonna put them up for adoption, then? Sell them?”

Eliot shrugged. “It depends. Do you want ‘em?”

Cody blinked in surprise and his hands stilled.

Eliot continued. “Also, I lied before. I don’t got a renter for the house. What do you think?”

Cody opened and closed his mouth several times, speechless.

“Uh. Damn. Yeah. Sure,” he finally sputtered.

Eliot grinned and clapped a hand down on Cody’s shoulder. “Nice, kid.”

He got up and kept packing the books from one of his bookshelves. “Rent would be about $600 a month, and that’s discounted from the usual rate. You’d essentially be boardin’ the horses for me, unless you wanted to adopt them.”

His hands stilled. “Now, uh, otherwise, I don’t need a farmhand at the new house.”

Cody let out a sharp breath. He’d been expecting this. “I know.”

“I can introduce you to some friends in the area, ones who might need workers, if you’d be interested,” Eliot offered.

Cody shook his head. “I’ve been lining up some job offers in town. Cafe’s looking for a cook in the evening.”

Eliot grinned. “Well, congrats, kid. Proud of you.”

Cody smiled back. “So, uh, no chance you’re leaving Beate behind?” he asked cheekily.

Eliot lobbed a thin book at him, which he caught effortlessly. “No chance, kid, back off,” he said mock-angrily.

 

* * *

 

Eliot hummed quietly  to himself as he waited for the microwave to go off. The smell of fresh popcorn filled the kitchen of their new house.

They had moved in four days ago, and it was _perfect_. They had plenty of room, they each had their own space within the house, and the window next to their bed upstairs afforded views of the whole street. Rosie loved the house and had swiftly organized her playroom exactly how she wanted it. Eliot and Hardison, between them, had bought her so many books that she needed a full-sized bookshelf all to herself in her room to hold them all. Parker had turned her small basement bedroom into a thief’s paradise, with two big jewelry boxes full of world-famous diamonds and all of her tools hanging in a very precise rack above her workstation. Hardison’s basement bedroom had been set up so he had maximum comfort while hacking: a plush armchair sat in front of his desk, on which sat a huge and very delicate-looking computer setup, leaving very little space in the room for a twin bed. Even Beate had taken to the house quickly, and her new haunt was one of the alcoves in the upstairs bedroom, where the windows near the floor allowed her to easily monitor the tree next to the house for squirrels and other shady characters.

After her first day of school, Rosie had settled in, and now her teacher reported that she was starting to talk to her classmates on the playground. The four of them had had their first sign language class together and it had been a resounding success.

Hunter's trial had gone off without a hitch and he'd been sentenced to a minimum of seven years in prison. Laurel June, with the support of Eliot, Seth, their Aunt Beth, and her friends, had filed for divorce. And she was scrambling to pack up her life and move to New York before she was too far along in her pregnancy to fly. 

The microwave beeped and Eliot hit the cancel button quickly to keep from waking Rosie up. It was movie night for the grownups, and already well past her bedtime.

He dumped the contents of the popcorn bag into the big bowl that already held two bags worth, and grabbed an extra soda for Hardison, then quietly made his way down to the basement.

Hardison had really outdone himself with the basement. The big, open room would be their briefing room, and a huge television (or was it a computer screen? Eliot had no fucking clue) took up much of the wall space. They’d wrestled comfortable couches and matching armchairs down the stairs, and a long workstation and pair of task boards nearby would serve as their planning area. With the remaining space, Hardison had added a few large bookshelves (one of which held only board games) and a wardrobe to hold some of the various costumes they wore on jobs. Parker had intervened on behalf of the last corner of the room and had insisted it be left bare, with only some thin mats, an iPod dock, and a small rack of free weights.

Nate and Sophie, as housewarming presents, had given them a stolen Monet, which hung in Parker’s little pilates area, and the _real_ Fonthill Vase (the one in the National Museum of Ireland was a clever fake by Starke), which sat in the china cabinet in the dining room.

Parker was already sprawled out on a couch when Eliot made it downstairs. Hardison sat at the workstation, furtively fiddling with something in his lap. Eliot slid the bottle of soda across the table at him and joined Parker on the couch.

“What’re we watching?” he asked.

“Something something _Paris_ ,” Parker said. He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged.

“What are we watching?” Eliot asked again, turning to repeat the question to Hardison, who quickly shoved whatever he was toying with in his pocket.

“ _A Monster in Paris_ ,” Hardison said. “It’s animated.”

Eliot groaned. “No ‘fense, babe, but we can watch animated movies in the daytime. Movie _night_ is ‘sposed to be movies we can’t watch with Rosie.”

Hardison didn’t answer, just came out from behind the workstation, almost forgetting his soda. Instead of sitting on a couch or armchair, he sat on the coffee table, facing his partners, and fidgeted nervously, not quite looking at them. Parker frowned and sat up.

“I, uh. W-wanted to ask y’all something,” Hardison said. His hand twitched towards his pocket and then clasped his knee instead. “Do--Um. Do you want to get. Curtains. For the upstairs bedroom.”

Eliot pursed his lips. “Yeah,” he said slowly, deciding to go along with Hardison rather than push him to say whatever he just lost his nerve to say. “I was gonna go look tomorrow, probably, if you wanna come.”

Hardison nodded quickly, then sighed and slumped a little. “That’s not what I was really gonna ask,” he admitted.

“Were you going to ask Eliot to marry you?” Parker asked, and Eliot’s head whipped around so fast the room spun for a moment.

“Wh--Marry _me?_ He was gonna ask _you_ if you would marry him,” Eliot blurted. Parker blinked at him.

Slowly, they turned their heads back to Hardison, who had pulled three simple rose gold bands from his pocket and held them in the palm of his hand.

“I might’ve. Told each of y’all I was gonna ask the other to marry me,” Hardison said flatly.

Eliot was speechless.

Hardison took a deep breath. “Eliot. Parker. Will you marry me? Both of you?”

Eliot’s mouth opened and closed several times. Parker was stock-still next to him, but he couldn’t turn his head to look at her.

Hardison shifted uncomfortably. “Gonna need an answer one way or another,” he said with a nervous laugh.

Eliot huffed out a laugh. Beside him, Parker laughed too, and before long they were both laughing hard, Parker holding onto Eliot to keep from falling off the couch.

“ _What?_ ” Hardison demanded.

 _"God,_  that was so dramatic,” Eliot choked out between bouts of laughter. “‘Both of you,’” he quoted in an entirely inaccurate dreamy voice, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Fuck y’all,” Hardison said, and started to get up from the coffee table to storm off, but Parker caught his wrist.

“Of course we’ll marry you,” she said, pulling him to sit back down. Hardison’s face lit up with a huge grin. Parker had a thought and turned to Eliot. “Right?” she asked, having realized that she hadn’t actually gotten confirmation from him.

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course. Long as it’s not romantic.”

Hardison put up a hand like he was swearing an oath. “No romance. Just tax benefits.”

Eliot snorted. “Not like the three of us can legally get married anyway,” he mumbled as Hardison slid one of the gold bands onto his left ring finger.

“I know a guy,” Hardison said vaguely, moving onto Parker. “We can get y’all different rings if you want somethin’ else, I just wanted somethin’ to ask with.”

Eliot shook his head, studying the band. “Nah, I like it.”

“Me too,” Parker said. She turned to Eliot abruptly. “What about us?”

Eliot shrugged. “You wanna marry me, too?”

Parker nodded. “We might as well.”

Hardison scoffed. “You two are the least romantic people I’ve ever met,” he mumbled as he moved to sit between them.

“No romance,” Parker reminded him.

“Right. Sentimental,” he corrected himself.

Parker snuggled into Hardison’s side and he tapped at the iPad that controlled the whole house a couple of times until the lights dimmed and the screen lit up. After adjusting the volume he slid the tablet onto the coffee table and threw an arm around each of them.

As the opening sequence played, Hardison hummed contentedly and Eliot took the hand that rested on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Hardison murmured, and Eliot squeezed his hand.

Less than five minutes into the movie they heard soft footsteps on the stairs and Rosalia, sleepy-eyed and carrying her koala by one paw, came shuffling in.

“Hey punkin,” Eliot said, and she padded over. She climbed up onto the couch and curled up across Eliot and Hardison’s laps.

Hardison smoothed her hair. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She just hugged her koala to her chest and blinked sleepily at the screen.

“We just started, you didn’t miss much,” Parker said.

Knowing she would probably fall asleep in a matter of minutes, Eliot said, “you can stay up and watch with us.” He could carry her to bed easily enough.

“And this is why I picked an animated movie,” Hardison said.

Eliot rolled his eyes but couldn’t drop the grin from his face.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hardison! Come on!” Eliot hollered towards the door as he flipped a pancake out of the skillet and onto the growing stack of golden brown pancakes on the counter next to him.

He heard a soft thump from behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Rosie with her head propped up on her hands and her elbows on the kitchen island, and Parker next to her, whose head had thumped down onto the island. He snickered and went to the refrigerator.

He started plating, stacking pancakes on top of each other and drizzling with chocolate syrup for Parker, slathering with peanut butter for Rosie, layering with slices of bacon for Hardison, and topping with blueberries and sliced strawberries for himself.

Hardison shuffled in, rubbing at his eyes, and bumped into the counter before rerouting and eventually sitting heavily on the third stool on the other side of the kitchen island. As Eliot finished plating he noticed all three of them nodding off and he smirked to himself.

The _whoosh_ ing sound of the can of whipped cream woke them all up, and Eliot grinned as he put a dollop on each stack before sliding the plates across the island along with the bottle of syrup.

They sleepily started eating, and Eliot speared himself a strawberry, thinking that if someone had told him just five years before that he’d be working with the same crew still, engaged to Parker and Hardison, living with them happily, on good terms with Laurel June and Seth, and the guardian of a little girl, he wouldn’t have believed them whatsoever.

He popped the strawberry into his mouth, watching his little family, and felt completely at peace for the first time in a long, long time.


End file.
